I hate knowing that I might care about him, about what he did and what he’s doing to me now, more than I care to face my grief.
But I needed him back then and he wasn’t there for me and I have to know why. Even right now, I need him. Even if this is the only way he’ll let me have him. But I’m not sure I’m ready to admit that this is who I am. This is what I want. And even if he did let me back in and I was able to forgive him, even if he gave me a chance to try and fix whatever he thinks I did wrong, will we ever be the same? Maybe we’re different for better reasons now and maybe all of this chasing and bullying, guarded by the shadows of our pasts, is whowe’ve become. Maybe this is who we’ve always meant to be.
But it’s not good enough. I need more.
I don’t say a word. I drop my arms and turn to walk away but, of course, he stops me.
“Do not fucking walk away from me,” he growls, reaching out and snatching me up by the back of my neck.
Every bone in my body feels like an icicle as my blood boils with fury. I crave his touch, but it's starting to drive me mad. Like I’m losing a piece of my mind every time he’s near. Or maybe I’m gaining it back.
He lets go of me and I turn around on my own accord. Facing him one more. This time, he looks pissed, like he could rip me to shreds with the sharp glare of his eyes alone.
I hold my palm out to him.
“Okay. Then I want my pills back. I know you took them.”
He rolls his eyes at me as an annoyed grin takes up his face.
“Those pills are trash, Olivia. You don’t need them. You think you do, but they’ll only make you unstable and the last thing you need is finding something else to get addicted to.” He turns back around to face me, lowering his voice. “Besides, those pills are not what you think they are.”
“What the hell are you even talking about? And why the hell are you taking such great pleasure in causing me pain?”
“Correction. Not just your pain. Others’ too. Though I’ll admit…” He stalks up to me. “I haven’t fucked myself to anyone else's pain except for yours.”
“Oh, I fucking bet.” I let out a sarcastic giggle. “You like to spy on me, don’t you? How many times have you fucked yourself while watching me, huh?”
“Too many times to be considered healthy, Olivia. And I come hard. Every. Fucking. Time.”
His admission hits me in a nefarious way. I ache all over, needing him to just fucking take me or leave me the hell alone. My mind is too fucked up to register anything properly, but the only thing I can pinpoint with precision is that fact that I can feel him all over my body and it’s consuming every ounce of common sense I have left.
“Cut the fucking crap, Trace.” I shake my hand out again, forcing myself to regain composure. “Just give me the pills.”
“Sure. You’ll just have to get on your knees and find where I dropped them.” A wicked grin grows on his stupidly attractive face and all I want to do is scream at him. Why the fuck is he being so goddamn cruel?
“What is wrong with you? You have no idea what I need them for,” I say, trying to sound a little more sincere rather than demanding.
Trace steps back up to me, using his finger to pull my chin up. I don’t fight him, frozen to my body’s need to surrender. I watch as his eyes observe my face, watching the way I breath with fervent need before he speaks.
“Olivia, be honest with yourself. You know those pills only cause you more anxiety than you need, but you use them as a false escape. Something you can pretend is protecting you. Newsflash, I see the way they affect you when you fall asleep. It all catches up to you and bleeds into your reality. And maybe whenyou’re ready to face that reality, you’ll open your eyes to the fact that the people who claim to love you, are the ones feeding into this fucked up version of you.”
He drops my chin, before turning around to walk away.
“What do you mean?” I ask, now feeling sick with the weight of his words. Is he right? Does he really know what he’s talking about?
“Those pills, Olivia. They’re not anxiety meds. And they aren’t your fucking father’s.” He turns up to look at me, and while he’s speaking with aggression, his eyes hold pity. Sympathy. Concern.
But I don’t know what to make of what he’s saying, my brows arched with confusion and worry as I feel my breathing start to race.
“Trace, what do you mean?” I beg, reaching out for his hand but he pulls it away.
I try to rack my brain for something that makes sense.The pills aren’t my dad’s?What the fuck would he even know about that? How could he know about…
I see the way they affect you when you fall asleep.
No.
“Trace!” I shout, stopping him in his tracks. “What do you mean you see the way they affect me when I sleep?”
