His lips pursed and he spun the chair to face his desk, opening one of the drawers before spinning back to face me.
“Here,” he said, holding out a chocolate bar. “At least eat this before you get on your bike. I can’t have you getting in another accident.”
I took the chocolate bar and stood from the chair, quickly shoving my other hand into my jacket.
“I can come by whenever if you still want me to take pictures to post the bike,” he said, following me out to the front. “Shit,” he cursed, grabbing my bicep.
My heart nearly leapt out of my chest.He caught me. Oh, hell, he caught me.
“It's raining,” he said, as I spun to face him, braced for the worst. My breath whooshed out with relief when he continued,“Don't even think about trying to convince me that you're okay to ride home in that. Stay here, and let me go grab my car keys. I'll drive you home.”
Fuck.
“Okay,” I agreed, eager to get home as quickly as possible.
As I took a seat in the passenger side of Cole's car, I stared out the windshield, every muscle in my body locked with tension. The knife in my jacket pocket was burning like a fucking cattle prod.
Fuck!
Cole attempted to ask me again if I was alright and I told him I had a migraine to get him to shut up. I closed my eyes, leaning back against the headrest, trying to sell the lie.
I sucked in a breath, hand shaking as I placed it over the pocket it was in. Like just touching the pocket might get me there. And honestly, it kind of was.
My heart was racing, butterflies in my stomach as I imagined what it would feel like to press the blade against my skin. I nearly smiled as I replayed the feeling I had gotten when Cole had first touched the needle to my skin.
It had felt like heaven. A momentary slice of heaven. Maybe it was because it'd been so long, but knowing that the knife in my pocket would give me the exact kind of pain that I was looking for was nearly too much to contain. I couldn't fucking wait. I wanted Cole to pull over. Drop me off in the next parking lot so I could do it already. So I could get that rush again. Get an even better one.
Fuck.
No, no, no.
Cole cleared his throat and I opened my eyes, surprised to already be pulling into my apartment complex.
“Thanks,” I muttered, rushing out of his car. He had dropped me in the parking garage, likely to get me out of the rain and the guilt was making me want to throw-up.
I watched his car exit the garage and sent my helmet flying into the concrete pillar beside me.
“Fuck!” I shouted, the curse echoing through the parking garage.
I paced.
Back. And forth.
Back. And forth.
“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck!”
My nails curled into fists, and I quickly shook them out, checking my palms for indents.
God, please, please, please. I want to do it. Fuck, I want to do it. But I know I shouldn’t.
I took several forced deep breaths before I shrugged out of my jacket and threw it on top of where my helmet had landed.
What the fuck am I doing? I just fucking stole. Istolesomething! What the fuck is wrong with me?!
My eyes kept flicking back to my jacket as I paced. The slight burn on my arm from the tattoo wasn’t helping to calm me down.
It was only a reminder of the high I’d gotten not long ago. A reminder of what I could have if I just gave in.
