Page 19 of Run to Me
What did they feel like to him when they exited his mouth?
Not wanting to sit here all day driving myself crazy over the answer, I text Layla, telling her to meet me at the mall an hour early.
Eight
Jace
If I could go back in time and retract my words, I would. I’d acted out of anger and confusion. Was I jealous? I never liked any of the guys he pursued while in school but this feeling is different, comparable to a thousand knots squeezing around my heart. Would he take my advice? It was what he’d told me once, and that was the first thing that popped into my head right after he said maybe to my suggestion while holding eye contact with me.
Was he trying to get a rise out of me or was he simply sending me a message? Either way, my blood feels like it’s on fucking fire every time I think about where he is. With Mike . . . or Matt . . . whatever that asshole’s name is. He’s probably the better choice though. No one will ever be good enough for him in my eyes, but they’d all be more ideal than me. They could give him normal, not only sometimes but all the time. They wouldn’t have to try so hard either.
I toss the trash out, taking a deep breath before walking back inside the orange-brick building. Walking without payingattention to where I’m going almost leads to me knocking a tray out of someone’s hand, and even after I apologize she glares at me, shaking her head.
I need to stop thinking about Nate and that other guy, but no matter how much I try to keep myself busy with work, I can’t seem to shift focus. Maybe it wouldn’t bother me as much if he wasn’t also avoiding me and pretending to be too tired to watch movies with me or play card games. Why would he do this? Why give me so many good things, only to take them away.
My nightmares are worse too, replacing the dreams of him kissing me—I’ve put the idea of that happening again far from my mind after so many days since it last happened. I’m more restless than usual, feeling the rules I break rip at my skin even harder, and I listened to my music loudly in my room this morning to drown out my thoughts. It would have disrupted the whole house—disturbed our guests in the basement—except we don’t have any guests.
I close my eyes and open them again, slamming my palm to my forehead before rushing to the break room. There’s no basement either, because my parents had it blocked off after the last time I fell down the stairs while I was sleep walking. I woke in a straight panic, kicking and screaming before balling up in the corner, crying. I didn’t speak for a week after that, and slept with furniture stacked against the door.
Opening the fridge, the can of Coke I popped the tab on when I first arrived at work mocks me. I’d never been allowed to have it before, so I’ve slowly been letting myself believe it’s okay. Then that strong taste hits the back of my tongue, my brain lighting up like an alarm bell, and all I feel is shame. I went behind my dad’s back again.
“Why can’t you ever do anything right? Following simple rules shouldn’t be so hard. You’re despicable. A sorry excuse for a son.”
His words claw their way inside me, remaining there until I’m back home and able to go to the bathroom and reach for the nail file again. Only, it’s not where I last left it so I rush to my mom’s bedroom, looking for anything sharp I can find. My eyes light up when I find her sewing kit under the bed. I quickly grab one of the needles, my dad’s voice getting louder and ringing in my ears until I finally slide the sharp point along my upper pec. I press and drag until my dad’s scolding disappears and his ghost is no longer looming over me.
My eyes squeeze shut and I drop the needle to the ground, tears building in the corners of my eyes. I’m crying from being haunted, not the pain—I barely feel that anymore. I just keep needing more in order for my head to go quiet again. The slamming of the front door has me freezing in panic, and once I can move again I pocket the needle and put everything back how I found it, cleaning up the mess I made before slowly peeking out into the hall.
Nate is humming, grabbing something from the fridge and heading to his room with two small bags on his arm. He doesn’t notice me because I don’t come out until his door is shut. I hover outside it for a long time with my knuckles unable to come in full contact with the wood. My heart feels like it wants to escape my chest every time I try to knock and I finally give up, walking to my room.
As I’m tucking the needle under my mattress, I hear a loud whimper, followed by what sounds like a scream. Not wasting another minute or letting my pounding heart stop me this time, I rush into the hallway and push open his door. His gaze lands on me, his hand freezing under his covers, and I swear I go into some type of paralyzed state when I see what’s on the TV.
Two men are on top of each other, one rubbing his cock over the other’s, both dripping and straining. My breaths stutter and he swallows hard, throat bobbing.
“I thought you were hurting or . . . shit, I’m sorry for barging in. I heard a scream and . . .” I scrub a hand over my face, my words catching in my throat.
His jaw twitches and a blush spreads from his face down to his neck. “I . . . sorry. It was, uh . . . the TV. I’m okay. I didn’t realize anyone was home.”
“What are you watching?” I look from him back to the two ravenous men on the screen going at it like fucking rabbits, one flipping the other onto his back and shoving his cock in him in one thrust. I’ve been curious before too, browsing porn on the internet, though it never did much for me, but something about catching him watching it has heat rushing to my groin.
“I think it’s obvious,” he muses, resting his hand above the blanket.
“You often wait for everyone to leave to watch porn alone?”
His lips twitch, chest rising and falling heavily. “No . . . I mean sometimes, but not like every time.”
“Can I watch with you?” I point to the empty spot on his bed and his mouth opens before closing again.
He looks at the screen again and nods. “Yeah, okay.”
I ease forward and his eyes stay on me the whole time as I slide under the covers. I don’t have to look down to know he’s naked. His shorts and shirt are discarded on the floor beside him, the bare skin of his hip brushing over my hand as he shifts in bed.
“Jace.” His voice rises to a higher octave.
“Shh. I’m trying to watch.” I look ahead, sliding my hand under the blanket to rest it on his thigh. His whole body shakes and he releases a drawn-out breath.
“Is this what you wanted to do with that guy today?” I ask, moving my fingers closer to his inner thigh, and he shudders.
“No.”
