Page 78 of You Had Me At Thirteen

‘That was amazing,’ I say against Wren’s lips.

‘You drive me insane,’ he says, breaking our kiss. ‘I just want to do that over and over again. You taste so fucking good.’

‘I want you,’ I say, fisting the collar of his shirt, and slamming my lips to his again.

He shakes his head. ‘Not here.’

‘Don’t you want me?’ The words leave my mouth before my brain registers them. I should have known I’d be just another one of his conquests.

‘Jesus, Matilda, it’s not like that.’ He backs away, before pacing in front of me, running his hands through his hair.

I feel exposed as I almost go into full-blown meltdown mode because Wren won’t fuck me. Who am I becoming?

‘Then what, Wren? I’m not good enough for you?’

He stops pacing. ‘Are you serious right now? Where is this even coming from?’

I blink at him, then shrug, dropping my head into my hands. Wren is in front of me in a second, tilting my chin up as I blink away the tears. Rejection hurts like a motherfucker, bringing with it all those old memories of being rejected by my flesh and blood. How could I be so stupid to put myself in this situation? Especially with someone like Wren.

‘Don’t you get it? It’s me that’s not good enough for you.’ His voice is a whisper, sad and full of something else.

I press my face into his chest. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my words muffled.

‘I’m sorry too, everything’s just…’ He stops and sucks in a deep breath, his chest rising before it sinks again.

‘Fucked,’ I say, finishing his sentence.

He nods, his chin rubbing against the top of my head. ‘Fucked.’

We stay wrapped in each other for a few more minutes before he sighs. ‘We should go. Your mum will be worried.’

‘Okay.’

As we head back home, Wren takes my hand in his. For once, he looks relaxed and not full of hate. Or like he wants to burn the entire world to nothing but ash.

There is so much more to Wren than he lets on, and I’m going to make it my mission to find out just how much more of himself he has to expose.

THIRTY-TWO

Wren

* * *

Both Mum and Dad are seated at the dining table when I enter the kitchen that afternoon. Their conversation sounds heated until Dad clears his throat at my arrival. Mum wipes her eyes, and attempts to smile at me.

‘Afternoon,’ I say, eyeing my dad as I head to the toaster. If that bastard has upset Mum…

‘Hi, sweetheart. How was school?’ Mum glances from me to my father, who now has his head in a newspaper.

Who the fuck still reads newspapers these days?

I pour myself a glass of water as I wait for my toast. Once it pops, I smother the bread in a thick layer of crunchy peanut butter and place myself next to Mum at the dining table. ‘Fine. Everything okay here?’

‘Whatever you think you heard, son, it’s not of your concern,’ Dad says, not even bothering to look at me as he speaks.

I guess I’m grateful for that. The last thing I need is my good mood ruined by that prick.

‘That’s good,’ Mum says, dragging my attention back to her. ‘Got much planned for this afternoon?’

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