Page 11 of Mine to Claim

I pause dressing, curiosity piqued by his odd reaction. "What is it?"

He seems to steel himself before asking in a rush, "Is it . . . is it always so intense?"

My hands still on my boot laces. I'm not sure exactly what he's referring to. "Intense how?"

The blush on his cheeks deepens, the color now more a delicious crimson instead of a frail pink. He flings an arm over his eyes, hiding his face from me. "You know . . . the way it felt. Overwhelming. Consuming."

I wince, rubbing the back of my neck. Did I go overboard in my eagerness? "No. Not always. I got a little too . . . enthusiastic last night."

"It felt good. Mostly," he mumbles, almost too softly for me to hear.

Something powerful stirs in my chest at his shy admission.

Even if the intensity overwhelmed him at times, he found pleasure in my touch. That I could show this beautiful, broken boy some joy, if only fleeting, means morethan it should and makes me feel alive in ways that frighten me far more than anything the hell we live in has to offer.

But I tamp the feelings down, focusing on getting dressed. This world leaves no room for affection. "It should feel good, if you're doing it right. And with the right person."

Where the hell did that come from?

The right person.

As if there's room for love anymore amidst just trying to survive.

I shove the feeling down, because there's no denying I've fallen for the boy, and straighten up. "Should probably head out. But. . . . you want me to stay awhile longer?"

Of course my dumbass hopes that last night meant something to him too. That he might share the same feelings.

Devon looks away, his scowl deepening in irritation or perhaps embarrassment. But he remains stubbornly silent.

The rejection carves out a hollow space in my chest that I scramble to fill with hardness instead. "Yeah, of course, you've got your own path. I'm heading out. But don't let me catch you following me again."

He meets my eyes with that defiant glare I know so well. "You didn't catch me last time."

Devon's insolent tone only twists the knife of rejection deeper. I bristle, hands clenching at my sides. "Yeah, well now I'll be watching for you. So don't test me. Got it?"

He merely scoffs.

“Try me. You won’t like the punishment that’ll be doled out.” I infuse the warning with some real bite, trying to mask the hurt.

But he just turns his back on me. "Whatever, old man. Shouldn’t you be leaving?"

His words slice through me like a knife. Last night he was pliant in my arms, now he can't get away fast enough.

Clearly I mean nothing to him beyond a means to survive another day.

Just a transaction, a deal to get what we each needed.

Fuck, I’m such a fool. As if I’ll ever find any real happiness is this fuckin’ hellhole we call Earth.

Fuckin’ moron!

I walk downstairs, doing my best to ignore my foolish heart, which still longs for the impossible and, as I reach the doorway, Devon's soft snores drift down from the bedroom upstairs, oblivious to the tempest he’s left raging within me.

With a deep, shaky breath, I heft my pack over my shoulder. Time to get my head out of my ass, shove these feelings down deep, and refocus on surviving solo.

I step outside and force my feet to carry me down the overgrown path, away from the little cabin, a bitter hollowness gnawing at my core as the truth sets in.

He was never really mine last night.

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