If you ignored her eyes, she’s a good enough actress to have you convinced. She’s putting on a performance worth a standing ovation, but her eyes, those damn blue, sad, beautiful eyes, give her away, swimming with fear and humiliation.
“I’m fine,” she repeats with a conviction that would fool anyone but me. “Goodnight, Cody.”
“No.” Instinctively, I reach to stop her turning away, but freeze before I touch her. Scaring her is the last thing I want. Closing my fist, I let my hand fall to my side. “Talk to me, B.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she snaps, hurt morphing to anger. “Leave me the hell alone, okay?” She turns around, poking my chest with her long finger, fresh tears cascading over her nose. “We’re not friends. We’re nothing! I don’t need your pity!”
“You’re notnothing tome,” I grind out, adding something I never thought I’d consider. “I’m across the hall if you change your mind. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
“I won’t come. We’re done. I can’t do this anymore.”
I’m rendered speechless, and she uses that moment to flee. With visible stiffness in every move, she enters her condo, slamming the door shut while I’m reeling.
We’re not done.
She can’t mean it. She’s shaken up, doesn’t trust me, and needs space. That’s all it is, but the protective instinct roaring within me hates the very fucking concept of space right now.
TWENTY-THREE
Cody
ICAN’T SIT STILL. The image of Blair—disheveled and broken, her clothes torn, makeup smeared, shoulders sagging—is ingrained into my psyche like a millennia-old cave painting that refuses to fade.
It’ll haunt me forever, along with this all-encompassing feeling ripping me apart. A feeling I know so damn well: the overpowering need to protect. Maddening concern. Bloodthirst.
Whoever touched her... whoever laid one fucking finger on Blair would end up six feet under if I got my hands on him now. It’s intense this feeling, raging like a thunderstorm.
Restless and fuming, I busy myself with mundane tasks to stop from barging inside Blair’s apartment and demanding answers. I discard the beer bottles my brothers drained, straighten the cushions, feed Ghost, unload the dishwasher... I do anything and everything that springs to mind in a vain attempt to push aside the worry eating me alive.
Did someone hurt her? Did they touch her against her will?Whothe fuck dared to touch her? Why? Where?
Until about eleven o’clock, I’m hoping she’ll come over, but once midnight strikes, I accept she’s asleep. Which summons a brand-new reason to cross the hallway.
I want to hold her. Mold her to my side and chase away whatever demons torment her fragile mind. But I can’t.
She doesn’t want me there.
That’s not how this thing between us works.
One foot after the other, I drag myself into the bathroom, shower, then get in bed.
Not that sleep wants to take me. I’m still fucking reeling.
I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t give a damn, but I do, and it drives me wild. Even more so because I can’t erase how easily she switched into this other girl. From displaying her vulnerabilities to shutting them off within seconds.
From the girl I want to spend time with to a girl I can’t stand.
Ever since she showed up at my doorstep when River was crying, I’ve wondered where this unfamiliar side of her came from. The girl who bakes cookies, wears jeans, and sometimes smiles with her eyes. She’s a stranger.
Wasa stranger. I’ve not seen that girl once at school, and since I met her, I’ve wondered if it’s a front. A new trick to weasel her way back into the spotlight.
One day I’m certain it’s not a front, that the girl in tight dresses, flashy makeup, and vile personality is a mask, the next I’m not so sure. I’ve known the vile Blair for years, but it’s been less than three months since I met the caring, cute, beautiful Blair.
The constant second-guessing drives me insane. It’s scary to think she’s pretending when she’s with me, but it’s fucking petrifying to think she’s not.
I don’t know when sleep finally takes me, but I do know when it lets me go. It’s when the mattress dips, informing me I’m not alone.
The dim glow of LED strips illuminates Blair’s tear-streaked, frightened face as she perches on the edge of the mattress.
