Page 129 of Collision
Instead, he grabs the remote control and turns on the TV in front of us. He settles deeper into the sofa, resting his crossed legs on the coffee table, folding one arm behind the back of his head and sipping his beer. I take off my shoes and cross my legs, putting a pillow on top of them. Thomas does some channel surfing, and we happen upon a rerun ofThe Vampire Diaries. My eyes light up instantly. With all the feeling of a little girl on her birthday, I beg him not to change the channel. Thomas rolls his eyes but agrees on the condition that I don’t expect “cuddles or shit like that” from him while we watch. So I then repress the sudden, strong urge to curl up against him.
“This Stefan guy is a pain in the ass prig. He’s pissing me off already,” he announces impatiently after the first two minutes. I laugh out loud.
“Just think, he only gets worse as the seasons go on.”
“Fuck, seriously?”
“Wait, are you telling me you’ve never seen this show?” I look at him in shock.
“What do you think?”
I squint at him. “Have you been living under a rock?”
“I’ve just been living.”
Probably while I was tucked in bed dreaming about Damon Salvatore, he was busy banging some Katherine Pierce type. Throughout the episode, I notice that Thomas keeps giving me these little surreptitious looks. It makes me feel a little uncomfortable knowing that someone is studying my every move, but at the same time, I love that he is the one doing it, so I don’t say anything about it.
We spend the rest of the time commenting on the episode, and Thomas seems gradually more interested. So much so that he almost doesn’t protest when, at the end of the episode, another one begins immediately.
“Are you feeling better, Ness?” He looks at me, and I do likewise.
I smile shyly at him and nod, but he doesn’t seem convinced.
He slides his right arm behind my back, grabs my waist, and, in one fluid motion, pulls me on top of him in a seated position. Instinctively, I put my palms on his bare chest to steady myself. Thomas covers my thighs with his hands, settling me astride his groin. My breathing immediately becomes more intense, and from the smirk on his face, I can tell he’s noticed. Damn. I must seem pathetically predictable to him. My eyes dart this way and that as I desperately try to avoid eye contact with Thomas. Yes, sustaining that kind of fearless, penetrating stare is clearly a rather arduous task.
“You’re still shaken up about what happened, aren’t you?” he asks, stroking my jaw with his thumb as he watches me closely.
“No, I’m fine,” I reassure him. And it’s the truth: I am fine now that I’m here with him.
“I went overboard. I wouldn’t blame you for being scared. The truth is, I’m constantly trying to tamp down all this anger that’s just burning inside me, and when it explodes, it overpowers me and I end up losing control. But I want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt you. You are safe with me.” I know I am. In fact, I’ve never felt more protected in my life.
I frown. “Do you think I am afraid of you? If that was the case, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
He lowers his eyes. “ I saw the way you looked at me…”
“Thomas.” I cup his face with my hands. “I’m not afraid of you. If anything, I’m afraidforyou. I understand why you reacted the way you did and I’m grateful you did. But I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me; I could never forgive myself.”
“That won’t stop me from beating his ass if he ever tries it again. In fact, I want to be very clear about one thing: if you think I’ll just sit on my hands and watch the next time some asshole so much as lays a finger on you, you thought wrong.” Arrogant. Possessive. Ruthless. As always.
I frown. I move my hands away from his face and lean back a little to get a better look at him. “You can’t just attack anyone who hangs around me.” I say this more sharply than I meant to, but I want to make sure he gets the message loud and clear.
“Wanna bet?” he answers insolently.
We stare, taking the measure of one another in silence for a few seconds. “You won’t. I’m not your property. You have no claim on me,” I say finally, confidently.
“I don’t need a claim to let some dickhead know you’re off-limits,” he says boldly. I feel my blood begin to boil. What kind of caveman presumption is this? Off-limits? I stare at him with my mouth open, shocked by what he’s said. I even consider making a thing about it, but then think better of it. I have no real desire to argue again; we’ve had more than enough arguments today. We’ll deal with this topic another time because I am positive it will come up again.
I take a deep breath, suppressing the outrage I can feel growing in me. I shake my head and try to dissipate the tension. “Just promise me that the next time you feel like you’re losing control, you’ll count to ten instead.”
“Ten’s too much.”
“Five?”
“Three. And that’s me doing you a favor.” He points a finger at me in a joking manner, but I am too tired to take it gracefully.
“Doing yourself a favor,” I retort seriously.
“No, I’d be doing it for you, because I like to lose control. All thatadrenaline pumping in my veins… You can’t buy a feeling like that,” he confesses contentedly.
