Page 19 of Deviant Need

“You need to sleep this off.”

“I will. Promise. Just stay with me first.” He tugs me closer, swaying slightly, and I smell that perfume again. “You make everything better. Did you know that?”

He sits down on the bed and pulls me between his legs, wrapping his arms around me, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from falling apart. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than how much this hurts, how he smells of someone else’s perfume and still holds me the same way he always does.

“Did you fuck someone?” The words blurt out before I can stop them.

He freezes. His arms go still around me, and he looks up, confusion spreading across his face. “What?”

Fuck. Perfect timing, brain.

I step back. “Never mind.”

He stares at me for a long moment, processing slowly, before pushing himself up from the bed. I back away another step, but he’s faster than he should be in his state, catching my wrist and spinning me around to force me to look at him.

“Why does it matter if I did?” His eyebrows pull together in confusion.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, okay? I’m tired, and I think you should sleep alone tonight.”

“But I didn’t.” His grip tightens around my wrist. “I didn’t sleep with anyone. Some girl spilled her drink on me and tried dragging me to the dance floor, but I left and came straight home because I missed you so much.”

The perfume. That’s why he smells like flowers and sugar.

“Okay.”

“So why’d you ask?” He’s studying my face like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You don’t care who I hook up with.”

Because I do care. It kills me every single time he does this. Watching him go out and come back smelling like someone else makes me want to claw my own skin off, and I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t destroy me.

“I’m just tired.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re mad at me, and you’ve been mad since I got home.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then what?” He’s swaying slightly, but his eyes won’t leave my face. “Talk to me, Danya. What did I do?”

Nothing... You exist, and I’m in love with you, and you’ll never see me the way I see you.

“You didn’t do anything.” I try to pull my wrist free, but he holds on.

“You can’t leave until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re lying.” He steps closer, crowding into my space. “I know when you’re lying. You do this thing where you won’t look at me, and your voice goes flat, and you’re doing it right now.”

“I just need space tonight, okay? That’s all.”

“Space?”

I don’t answer him.

If I get in that bed with him right now, with her perfume still clinging to him, when he’s high and needy, and he puts his hands on me like he always does, I’m going to lose my mind. I can’t keep doing this. He uses me for comfort and affection after he’s been with girls who actually stand a chance with him, while I never will.

I’m his brother. This crush is pathetic and wrong and fucked up on every level. My brain is so twisted that I try to ruin every single hookup he tries to have out of pure selfishness because I can’t stand watching him with someone else, even though I have no claim to him at all. I’m the reason he’s still single. I sabotage everything, demand his attention at the worst moments, pull him away from girls until they get tired of competing with me and leave. I do it on purpose so I can keep him to myself. It’s sick. I’m sick.

He lets go this time, confusion written all over his face. “Did something happen?”