Page 45 of Tied to You
“Maybe I want you to.”
The smile I give him is small. I appreciate his words, but I come from a completely different world to his. I didn’t ask to find… whatever this is. I wanted to come here and find whoIam. I need him to go. As much as I don’t want him to, I have one year before I’ll have to return. This can never come to anything more than a hook up. A good thing we both share. He comes from a loving family—albeit his actual parents aren’t around. My parents love me, but it’s more important that I do what they need me to. Not what makes me happy. My happiness comes second. I grow attached to him or God forbid fall inlovewith him, and it will be me that gets hurt.
“You need to go.”
He smirks, confused, then sees I’m serious. Oddly, he doesn’t challenge. Doesn’t fight. Again, I’ve hurt him.Fuck. I can’t backtrack quick enough. His face drops, and I know I’ve lost him.
“I just don’t want Mick to see us,” I try to tell him.
Travis moves off me, and I hate the detachment. Hate the instant cold I now feel. It’s empty. Hard. Lonely.
“Wait.”
He doesn’t listen. He dresses, pulling on his boxers and jeans with his back to me. I see his muscles tense, his back rigid. He hates me. He doesn’t know anything about me, yet I’ve pushed him away more than once. When he grabs for his shirt, he turns, and I see the flash of resentment on his face.
“You can’t be mad with me.”
He laughs under his breath, and the glass wall in front of me cracks.
I mock the noise he makes like a child, my pettiness fuelled by his attitude. He doesn’t know why this year means so much to me. What right does he have to be cross with me? This is my life. My time.
“Why don’t you call posh boy? I’m sure he’d be happy to take you back,” he fires at me.
I can’t help myself. Henry rejected me once he worked out I might have feelings for Travis. Unwanted feelings I fear may have been misplaced. I spring from the bed, getting in his face. He doesn’t scare me. Not even with deadly eyes locked on mine and him snarling. “Fuck you!” I spit.
He has me by the throat, pushing me against the wall in a heartbeat.
My back slaps the surface and I shudder, both hating the cold and hating that he has me pinned.
“No, fuck you, Mollie.”
I grab his wrist, my back squirming trying to get away from him.
“You’re a selfish brat, just as I assumed from the beginning.”
My palms hits his chest. “That’s just it! You assume you know me. You don’t know anything about me!”
“Then tell me!” he shouts, his face moving dangerously close to mine.
I hate the way my thighs tighten seeing his lips part with his rage. “No,” I scoff, my own face scrunching, desperately trying to deny the way he’s making me feel.
“Fine.” He lets me go, and I slump, my legs bending with the loss of his touch.
He buttons up his shirt, his fingers moving fast with his anger. He grabs his leather cut, swinging it around him to put it on, then starts toward the door. “I’ll see you around—”
I’m behind him, pushing him with as much force as I can muster. He can’t just walk away like that.
His step falters, and the slow way he turns around to look at me has meregretting my decision instantly. His face is red with rage, anger radiating from him.
I take a small step back. Then another.Fuck. That might have been one step too far. What the fuck am I doing? I want him, but I keep pushing him away. He’s right. I am selfish. “I’m sorry,” I choke when he advances. I come to a stop, my back hitting the wall once again, only this time, I’ve put myself there.
He doesn’t touch me or say a word, and that feels worse than when his hand was around my throat. His eyes simply drop down my naked body, trailing over every curve before he looks back up at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, still breathy.
“For what?”
Good question. I’m sorry for a lot of things that have happened since I arrived here. I’m sorry for not being able to help Mick when Blackjack went into labour. I’m sorry for thinking I could make something of a life for myself here. But more than anything, “For falling for you.”
