… it burns you to ashes.
CHAPTER 21 – ANTONIO
I often stop at the library before work. The building is old and charming, and the presence of books grounds me better than anything. The way they’re organized soothes me.
I’m checking out the new releases when I get an unpleasant feeling of being watched. This early in the day, the library is often almost eerily quiet. I glance around me, but don’t see anyone.
Still, the uneasiness grows, and I decide to head out.
Too late.
“Have you missed me?”
My body reacts before my brain, blurring my vision.
Ryan Rutherford leans against the end of the shelf, smirking at me with casual cruelty.
“You’re—you’re not a student,” I manage to say, feeling panic spread through my bloodstream like poison.
His gaze drags over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Still smart, I see.” He chuckles. “You’re right, I’m not a student.”
He tilts his head, taking his time. “I spotted you in the street and followed you in.” He studies the surroundings. “Hiding behind book stacks is very on-brand for you, Antonio.”
I grip the edge of the shelf. My hands start to shake. I hate the way he says my name.
Ryan steps into my space, too close, just like he used to—looming and crowding and suffocating me.
His arm brushes mine. His hand lands on my shoulder. He squeezes.
Not hard enough to hurt. But enough to let me know he could.
The touching makes bile rise in my throat, but he’s not done. His thumb presses into the hollow between muscle and bone, and he looks at the spot almost curiously.
I try not to react, but I can’t help it—I recoil in disgust.
“Leave me alone.” My voice comes out humiliatingly small.
I try to step around him, but his arm snaps out, blocking me. Same trick. Same entitled way of entertaining himself at my expense. Even the shame washing over me is the same.
Weak weak weak.
He leans closer. I can smell him.
My stomach churns.
“Relax. You always get so worked up. What’s so awful about this? Saying hi to an old friend.”
My mouth is so dry that the words almost get stuck in my throat.
“We’re not friends.”
He laughs and squeezes my shoulder again. “Not really your call, is it?”
Then he strolls off, whistling without a care in the world.
Like he didn’t rip open every scar.
My legs give out as soon as he’s gone.
