“Goodnight, Chaos.”
12
ALLIE
A bright yellowlight filters in from between the slit in the curtains, rousing me from sleep. It’s fucking blinding. The kind of light that only exists from the sun reflecting off blankets of snow. I go to sit up when I realize my leg is tangled in something…like another leg. Rolling my eyes, because, of course, he didn’t stay on his side of the floor, I carefully shift myself off him. That’s when I notice it. My hand is warm and it’s…resting on top of something. I slowly lift the covers like I’m creaking open the door to a haunted house.
No. Fuck, no.
My hand is shoved down Ashton’s boxers, my fingers curled around his half-hard dick. As much as I want to snatch it away, I can’t risk him waking up. I start to let go, slowly lifting one finger at a time, but my index finger brushes against him and he moans softly as his eyes flutter. His dick twitches and starts to thicken in my hand. I squeeze my eyes shut. This is so fucked. I’m literally assaulting him while he’s sleeping. But it’s not like Iwantto be doing this. I was also sleeping.
I sit up straighter and try to move my hand again, but he shifts to the side and takes me with him so now I’m practicallyspooning him from behind, my hand trapped in his underwear between the floor and his stomach. He hums and that’s when he starts moving his body up and down on the floor as if he’s seeking friction. And it feels…good. His silky length in my hand, sliding gently against my fingers as he continues his sluggish thrusts. He makes another sound and I force myself to snap out of it. This is so wrong, and it’s gone far enough. “Ashton,” I yell, and he stills his movements, his eyes flying open wide.
“What’s wrong?” he rasps, his voice still rough from sleep.
“You’re lying on my hand,” I say in my usual annoyed tone.
“Oh, shit.” He turns over, but before I can get my hand out, he seems to remember something and starts lifting the blanket.
“Ashton, don’t,” I scream, but it’s too late. Just as he peels back the covers, I wrench my hand away, springing up from the floor and making a mad dash to the bathroom.
I hear him call after me, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I slam the door shut and slide down the other side of it until my ass hits the cold tile. I press my fist against my thigh. It’s something I used to do when I was a kid. When I would hide out in our bathroom with the peeling yellow wallpaper. When I wanted to block out the screaming and sounds of glass shattering. If I covered my ears, I would still be able to hear it, and for some reason, the muffled version was even worse. Like it was almost better, but not quite. I wanted things to be all the way better, and if they weren’t, I didn’t see the sense in slapping a band-aid on it. So I would dig my fist into my thigh. Not hard enough to hurt myself or even leave a mark—just enough so I would have something else to focus on.
A soft knock infiltrates the haze in my head. “Allie,” he whispers through the crack in the door, almost as if he’s leaning his forehead against it.
“Go away.”
“Allie, you don’t have to be—I’m not?—”
I lift myself up a little more so my back is flush with the doorto ease the pressure on my leg. He doesn’t sound mad. Or smug. Not like last night. Last night I wanted to strangle him for bringing up what happened all those months ago. The night of the gala. The night I thought my world was ending, that the one person who had always been there for me was going to toss me aside because of something I did when we were in college. I had broken Emory’s trust, the very thing she worked so hard to give people after what happened to her.
Watching Emory’s relationship with her ex was like watching a movie I already knew the ending to. She was drowning and didn’t know it, but I did. I knew because I had seen it my whole life. The lies, the manipulation, the guilt. My mother fought back at first, but eventually, she just gave up. That’s when it got physical. I couldn’t let that happen to Emory. Even if it never escalated to that point, I couldn’t let her become comfortable with pain and abuse like my mother had. So I did the only thing I could think of at the time and told Nate what was going on. When her ex came back last summer, she found out I had betrayed her trust, and it crushed her. It crushed both of us.
Then there he was. Comforting me. Holding me. Wiping the salt-laced tears from my eyes. Before I knew it, I was begging him. God, I begged him to make me forget. Just like my fist on my thigh, I used him as a distraction. Only he left a mark. I couldn’t let that happen. I promised myself it would never happen. I had to erase it.
The faint knock comes again.
“You can’t stay in there forever.” His voice isn’t angry or even condescending. It’s gentle like it was that night, and it makes my stomach flip. Can’t he just go back to ordering me around or being an unhinged ray of sunshine?
“I need to take a shower,” he says a little louder this time, but I continue to ignore him. In the meantime, I’ll count how many fucks I give. One…two…nope, none.
After a moment, he sighs and it’s so quiet, I barely hear itthrough the door. “There’s a breakfast buffet,” he tries again. A couple of beats pass and then he adds, “They have homemade scones.” Right on cue, my stomach rumbles. Damn it, I do love a good scone. I heave myself off the floor with a groan and open the door, the click of the latch sounding throughout the otherwise silent room.
Ashton is standing there in nothing but his boxer briefs, his abs on full display, hair messy from sleep, eyes slightly bloodshot from lack of it. I imagine the floor wasn’t up to his aristocratic standards. He could probably feel a pea under a hundred mattresses. Despite his tired appearance, he still looks…beautiful. God, why is he so damn beautiful? He scratches his chin and I notice the faint stubble around his jaw and upper lip from not shaving. It gives him this rugged look, and I don’t even want to admit whatthatdoes to my insides.
I breeze past him as if I don’t have a care in the world and start gathering my clothes from the day before. They’re still slightly damp from the snow, but I’ll have to make do.
When I look up from what I’m doing, I notice Ashton hasn’t moved. He’s standing there by the bathroom door, just staring at me.
“Can we talk?”
“No.”
“Allie…”
“I came out for the scones. Just go take a shower so we can get breakfast and get the hell out of here.”
For a split second, he looks like he’s going to argue, but then he shakes his head and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
