Page 63 of Honeysuckle
“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, his eyes fluttering closed and his breathing harsh and shallow. Like I didn’t even interrupt him, his hands returned to their scrubbing motion.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, trying to be gentle, curbing the need to yell at him or break him from the trance.
Again he ignored me, and continued to scrub frantically like he was trying to remove permanent marks, but there was nothing on his skin except for a few bruises, the cut that split through his bottom lip and the one that bit into his cheek. I knew getting in his face wouldn’t work, he barely wanted me there when he was coherent. And whatever he was going through, he wasn’t himself.
I stepped into the hot water, wincing at the temperature as it burned my unprepared skin, and I reached out for the sponge for a second time. He held onto it tightly, his fingernails raw from the grip.
“Trade me,” I said, pulling on the sponge.
“Go away, Tucker.” He squeezed tighter, and I could see beneath the sponge that he had scrubbed the skin so raw it was bleeding under his assault.
“No,” I shook my head, trying again. “You helped me today,” I swallowed, “which means I owe you, remember? We don’t do charity,” I reminded him. “If you don’t let me help, then you’re no better than me.”
“Shut up,” he growled and stepped closer. The water ran slick down his features and when he turned his face up toward me I could see the shame raging behind those brown eyes, pupils still flared and angry.
I stared back at him, raising my hands at a torturous pace so as not to startle him before I pressed them against his jaw on either side. His whole body tensed under the contact, but I felt him lean into the touch and breathe. It was ragged and heavy, releasing whatever pain he was clutching to, and he closed his eyes. His lashes were soaked with water and made him look so sad as he broke down a little further.
“Let me help,” I gritted out, just trying to convince him that I wasn’t there to hurt him. My thumb brushed over the cut on his cheek, and he didn’t say a word, but his brows pulled together in pain. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, suddenly very aware of how close he was to me. I could feel the heat that radiated from his body, and I could smell the sweat and blood that tangled with the hot steam that rose around us.
His eyes opened at the sound of my apology, and he grabbed my wrists, his nails digging into my skin. Josh’s bottom lip trembled as he brought in another strangled gasp of air and moved us in a rough motion. He slammed my back against the tiles, staring at me with bloodshot eyes that screamed for help.
“Take it back,” he growled.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I wouldn’t. I was sorry. He was here, like this, because of something I did… I just know it. I could feel it under my skin, picking at my muscles. There was guilt there, I just didn’t know why.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped and dug his nails deeper.
“Like what?” I whispered over the running water, his lips were so close to mine that I could feel the shaky exhale that came, it was cold compared to the heat of the water and fanned down my skin, kissing my overheated body.
“You aren’t allowed to feel sorry for me,” he said, his eyes flickering across my face.
“I don’t,” I lied.
“You do, I can smell the pity on your skin and it’s driving me nuts,” he groaned. “Just don’t.”
“Alright,” I said, just trying to understand what was going on behind his eyes. “What do you want then? Because whatever you’re doing isn’t going to work, I won’t let you—”
Josh didn’t let me finish, he surged forward and captured my open mouth against his. The force slammed my head into the tiles, but the sting was drowned out by the hungry way his tongue pushed into my mouth. I allowed my hands to drift back through his soaked waves of hair and gripped him tightly. The kiss was needy, it was hot and full of hatred, but he was kissing me, and much to my surprise,I was enjoying it.
Teeth clashed as he fought for dominance, but I didn’t care; he could have whatever he wanted. I was completely at his mercy, in a trance under his harsh touch and painful grip. I wanted every mark he planned to leave in his wake. It was all I could think about as his fingernails scraped against the soft skin of my wrist, leaving little raw lines that proved I wasn’t dreaming.
I closed my eyes and sank into the kiss as he leaned against me, but as quickly as he had initiated it, he was gone. I felt his touch dissipate, and when I opened my eyes, he was already gone. Leaving the shower room without another word.
LOGAN
Isatintheclosetfor three hours before the door to our room at Dansby finally opened. I knew he’d come looking for me eventually, I just wished he hadn’t. Now I’d have to explain myself.
“Josh?” His voice was sturdy as always, kind and searching for me in the darkness despite our last rough interaction.
My lip throbbed and my cheek probably needed ice but I had gotten dressed and came straight here to find the solace in the silence. The rest of the team had gone to a party somewhere on campus and I was grateful when the loudest thing to welcome me into Dansby House was the creaking of the old floorboards.
I heard Dean stop, turn back and flick on the lamp beside his bed.
His tall frame cast a shadow across the floor to where I sat huddled in the closet and I did my best to straighten up and not seem so small but in his presence there was no denying how little I felt.
“What?” I said, harsher than I meant to be, but he didn’t flinch at my tone.
He kicked off his sneakers and peeled off the hoodie he was wearing as he walked toward me and sat on the floor across from me.
