And God, I need to get away from him. I need to leave.
I need to save myself.
“I have to go,” I whisper and hastily climb down his body.
Looking away, I step back from him and in my mind, I’m already putting things back, closing down the studio and catching the bus back to St. Mary’s when he decides to break the silence.
“I’ll drop you off.”
Chapter Seven
He’s waiting for me by his Mustang.
He’s leaning against it, his arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other.
When he told me that he’d drop me off, I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t want to prolong our time together and I didn’t have the energy for it either. Giving in seemed like the best course of action.
Now though, not so much.
Because I can’t stop this pain in my chest, this wild thunderous beating of my broken heart.
This is how he always waited for me.
Leaning against his car, his strong arms folded, his animal eyes — that I think can see even in the dark — pinned on whatever door that I’d come out of.
Usually his front door.
Because that was when he’d take me out on rides, when I visited Tempest over the weekends, and he’d bring me back safe and sound before my curfew.
And I’d run to him.
I’d rush down the cobblestone driveway to get to him, to go wherever he planned on taking me before ending up in the woods so I could dance for him.
Tonight though, I walk slowly.
I breathe slowly too. In and out.
But most of all, I don’t look into his eyes. I don’t stare back.
I keep my eyes on his black boots with metallic buckles even though I know that he doesn’t have such qualms.
I know that he is staring at me.
I can feel it.
I can feel his eyes looking at me as I walk toward him, taking me in, my changed dress, my tight bun, my ballet flats.
But I power through it. I power through the short walk and when I’m close, I see that he unfolds his ankles and straightens up. And then he does something that knocks the breath out of me.
Like it used to before.
He walks around his car and opens the door for me.
He always did that, and two years ago I didn’t know what to make of it.
I didn’t know how to protect myself from his charms, from a villain with manners.
He’d stand there with the door open, his eyes tracking my every move as he’d wait for me to get in. So he could close the door after me as well.
