“I’ll take you home, Lilac.”
The car ride is eerily silent. I look at Irvin, and his face is devoid of emotion.
What was that back there?
He never leaves me hanging. He never uses me just to get off.
Now that he thinks I don’t crave him, he’s using me for sex. But that’s what I wanted, right? To just use each other for sex. That I only want sex from him. Yes, I admitted to him that I wanted him, but that doesn’t mean I want more with him.
I wasn’t expecting him to treat me like a whore, like I don’t matter to him. Why should I care that I don’t matter to him?Why should I care if he’s only using me for sex? What we have doesn’t mean shit to me. Or at least I don’t think it does.
I place my hand on his, but he pulls away. Tears threaten my eyes. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I’m having emotional whiplash. I don’t know why his rejection hurts.
A lump forms in the back of my throat as I listen to the rain beating on the roof of the car. Stars are painted across the dark sky.
Inside the bedroom, I change into my pajamas while he changes into another suit. I follow him to the front door.
So now he’s leaving in the middle of the night? He never leaves me at night unless he has to go to his trials for the club.
“Where are you going, Irvin?”
His eyes don’t meet mine. “Out with Jameson.”
“Where?”
“Just out.”
I stand in front of the door to block him. “Why is it fair that you have to know exactly where I’m going, but you can’t tell me where you’re going?”
He leans down and kisses my forehead. His hot-and-cold behavior is getting on my last nerve.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning to pick you up from school.”
Why won’t he touch me? Why is he acting cold toward me?
I refrain from saying it aloud. I don’t want to sound desperate. I don’t want to seem pissed off over him using me.
Is this one of his mind games? Why is he acting distant? Did I do something to upset him?
I desire him and want him—so why is he being an ass?
Maybe he’s not. Maybe he really is fine with this new arrangement, and I’m way in over my head. Maybe he’s getting the hint that I don’t love him or want him the way he thinks.
My chest tightens.
I suddenly flinch as I watch him shut the door.
Where is he going this late at night?
I should follow him, track him like he does me.
I shake my head. I’m not a stalker. If he doesn’t want to be around me, I need to give him his space.
Even if I’m right about him being the killer, I still crave his touch. I can’t focus without him touching me.
Have I gone crazy? Have I lost my sense of self?
I’m losing my mind.
