Josh.
What kind of a person am I? I never once thought about the guy who lost his job for me then tried to help me hunt down my parents’ murderer.
Did Quill really kill him? Did the monster I just had sex with end the life of my friend?
As my mind spirals, caught between guilt as I wonder about Josh’s fate, and cold dread as I hear the voices of the men who destroyed me, I hear the angry opening and shutting of drawers and then footsteps that grow louder.
My heartbeat picks up as whoever it is clearly makes a beeline for my door.
But I’m incapable of doing anything but wait, curled up in the tightest ball I can manage, every inch of my skin coated in terrified sweat.
I fully expect to see Liam’s dull eyes fix themselves on me, but instead, it’s just Quill.
JustQuill. The worst monster by far. But also, the one who makes me feel safe.
I’ll never be able to understand myself.
He stops in the doorway, one hand clutching a roll of duct tap,the other on the doorknob.
“What’s wrong?”
I nearly laugh out loud at the question. What’swrong? How about the fact that my parents are dead, someone’s probably out to kill me, you just kidnapped me, then ignored my pleas for help? Oh, and also, your roommates, you know, the ones you told to rape me, are just a few rooms over, and my friend is probably lying in the gutter somewhere?
I open my mouth and shut it a few times, but I don’t even know where to start. So I curl up into myself fiercely, hiding my stupid round glasses from him by sinking them into my knees.
There’s a long, drawn-out silence, punctuated by the sound of a door closing quietly.Great. I don’t know what’s wrong with me for hoping the one person responsible for all, or at least, most of this shit, would come over and comfort me. Clearly that was never going to happen and he’s left again.
This is nothing more or less than a kidnapping. He’s not someone who cares for me, he’s a psychopath, and I need to get away. I should be trying to escape. I should get up and break open the door. Or maybe go to the window. Is there a window? I haven’t even looked to see if there’s a window. I haven’t half-tried to run away, have I?
But I’m far too tired to move. I’m too tired, even, to cry. I think the great big gash that I’ve been managing to keep mostly closed is starting to open, too, letting out all the ugliness of my parents’ death, and I can’t even find in me a speck of energy to force it shut again.
Instead I remain unmoving, a curled-up, pathetic ball on the bed of my psycho ex.
I practically jump out of my skin when I feel a hand on my back.
I jerk up, my glasses tumbling from my face, and a hand gently pushes them back on.
“What’s wrong?” asks Quill gruffly again.
I keep my mouth resolutely closed and try to dive back into the safety of my knees, but he holds my chin up and sits down beside me.
“I haven’t heard a single word out of you for at least a minute, which tells me something is very wrong,” he murmurs, and I try to glare at his stupid attempt at teasing. But his voice has grown soft and it’s making me want to crawl up into his lap. Except he would only go away again, and I’d be forcefully reminded how one-sided my absurd ache for him is.
I practically cry out when I feel his hand latch onto mine, and drag me up onto the lap I’d just been wishing myself on. Except of course, since he’s doing the dragging, I start to struggle a bit, just to show him I’m not a fucking lapdog.
It’s intoxicating to feel his arm turn into a band of steel that pushes me right where he wants me to go, not caring the least bit whatIwant. What I want is what he wants, anyway, but I’d rather die than admit it after I allowed myself to be so vulnerable for nothing. So I struggle harder, until he’s clamping me to him with both his arms, and the roll of duct tape falls to the floor.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
He holds me to him possessively, locking me in his arms so tightly that I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. Which I definitely don’t.
“What’s wrong?” he asks for the third time, his deep rumble of a voice doing things to me even as my entire body feels like it’s close to shattering in a million pieces.
“Nothing.” My word is an echo of his, and he clicks his tongue impatiently in my ear. I can’t decide if I want him to keep holding me like this forever, or if I’m hoping he’ll flip me over his knee and spank me. Either way, I’m far too turned on right now given the situation. How can I possibly be in the depths ofemotional torment and this aroused at the same time?
“What the fuck do youthinkis wrong?” I spit out, hunting for the anger that I know is in me, somewhere, to use as a shield.
