No change.
We’ve been fucking like it’s a solution. As if doing it hard enough, often enough, we can somehow outrun the reality that’s waiting to destroy her.
I don’t know how to say no to her. But being with Bells is fucking with my head in ways I didn’t expect. Because when she falls asleep after I’ve had my cock buried so deep inside her Iforget where I end and she begins. When her breathing finally slows against my chest, I lie there staring at the ceiling. And I wonder if she needs me or if she just needs something. Someone. Anything that keeps her from thinking about hospital and worst-case scenarios.
That thought burrows under my skin more than I want to admit.
Like it is now, with her beside me, naked, our skin still slick with sweat. Her breathing is soft. Her fingers have stopped over the stupid ink on my chest, no longer tracing, just resting there as if she fell asleep mid-thought.
I lie here and think. Trust me, thinking is fucking dangerous. Especially when the only things screaming in your head are all the ones you don’t want to think about.
I remind myself every damn day that I need to create some space between what we’re doing and what it’s turning into.
I fall asleep telling myself that. I wake up the next morning swearing this is the day. This is the day I create space, get my act together, and stop letting her crawl under my skin. But then she looks at me, or offers that tired, broken smile. Or she touches me in a way that makes everything inside me go silent. And I’m right back where I started.
I don’t know what to do.
I guess we’ll see when her dad wakes up, when she finally makes peace with Sam and Aubrey, and she no longer needs me.
I close my eyes and listen to the rhythm of her breathing. To the way it’s deep and steady now, no longer catching at the edges like it does when she’s awake.
I wait. I count her breaths. Ten. Twenty. Making sure she’s really asleep before I say it. So quiet it barely exists.
“You’ve ruined me, Bells.” I tilt my head slightly, my lips grazing her hair as I whisper the words that will ultimately destroy me. “I think I love you.”
By the time I get to school, I’ve hardly slept. Two hours, maybe three. My eyes feel gritty, my head heavy with all the shit I can’t stop thinking about.
I stop out front, lean against the brick wall near the side entrance where the teachers don’t bother looking, and pull out the joint I rolled this morning. I light it, take a long drag, and let the smoke fill my lungs. Hold it there. Let it burn away the jagged edges of everything I’m feeling.
A couple of freshmen walk past, eyes wide, and I stare them down until they look away and keep moving. Smart.
By the third drag, I can breathe again.
I stub it out against the wall, pocket what’s left, and move on. My boots hit the pavement, the sound grounding me back into who I need to be here.
The second I move toward the doors, I shift. I roll my shoulders back, loosen my posture into something lazy and dangerous. Chin up. Eyes straight ahead. The smirk slides into place without effort, the one that says I don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone. The one that dares someone to challenge me.
It’s a mask. The untouchable one. The one that keeps people at arm’s length, prevents them from getting too close or asking questions I don’t want to answer. The one that says I’m dangerous enough that you don’t want to fuck with me. That I’ll break your nose before you finish your sentence.
I push through the front doors and the noise hits me instantly. Lockers slamming, voices overlapping, the sharp sound ofsneakers on linoleum. Someone laughs too loudly. Someone else is arguing about some bullshit that doesn’t matter.
Eyes shift toward me—they always do. Some glance away quickly. Others pause, mostly girls, biting their lips and whispering to friends. I don’t acknowledge any of them.
This place is easy and predictable. It’s loud enough that you don’t have to think. And right now, not thinking is exactly what I need.
I walk down the hallway, hands in my pockets, and people step aside without me asking. It’s automatic. They know fucking better.
I see Noah and Reece up ahead, leaning against the lockers near the science wing. Arms crossed. Jaws tight. The second they sense me coming, they turn their heads and watch me. Silent. Assessing. Waiting for something.
They haven’t said anything to me since the other day when they warned me to stay the fuck away from Lola.
I haven’t. Instead, I’m fucking her more than I was back then. Morning, night, every chance we get. Hard enough that she forgets her own name. Hard enough that I can still feel her nails dragging down my back from this morning.
I give them that smirk. The one that says everything without saying a word. The one that hides the fact that they would absolutely lose their shit if they knew all the dirty things I’ve done to their girlfriend’s best friend. If they knew where my mouth has been. Where my cock has been. How she sounds when she comes apart underneath me. How she begs for it.
Before I reach them, Maya steps into my path. Hair flick. Chest out. Tits practically spilling out of her tight top, the kind of shirt that screams notice me. She offers me a smile, the kind that’s an invitation wrapped in lip gloss and desperation.
Two weeks ago, I would have taken her up on anything she offered. I would have followed her wherever she wanted to go.I would have let her get on her knees or bend over whatever surface was available. I would have fucked her and forgotten her name by lunchtime.
