Page 74 of Ravaged By Lust

And I wake up sweating. I sit up in my bed and look down at my hands which are covered in my sweat. My breathing is heavy. It’s like I’m having a panic attack.

As the fog clears from my head, a clear thought emerges.

I don’t want Chloe Stoll to go.

32

CHLOE

Bishop doesn’t message me all night. I stay up late, very late, waiting for something – anything – from him, even though I know I really shouldn’t be doing this considering I have this crazy important performance today, but still… nothing comes.

Nada. Not a thing.

My alarm wakes me up, and I check my phone again.

Still no message.

I sigh and start to get ready for the performance today. I have a long hot shower because I can’t be assed to step back out in the cold. I stand there with the water running over me, deep in thought over what happened last night between Bishop and me.

Yet again I walked away. How couldn’t I, though? Yes, I felt like a kid throwing a tantrum in the middle of that restaurant storming off, but the way he simply brushed the past off like it was nothing just really… peed me off.

But he told me he loved me.

Wow, your head is in shambles, Chloe.

Even though I berate myself for thinking way too much about the man, the first thing I do when I leave the shower is to check my phone again for any messages from him.

I’m definitely caught hook, line, and sinker.

Freaking hell.

I’m angry at him. Angry about everything. But he has been so nice to me. The new guitar he got me. The cheesy dancing in his living room. The care he’s shown me. The effort to prove he’s a changed man. He’s so different from my memories.

Maybe people do change.

Ugh. Stop thinking about him, Chloe. Focus on the performance.

I don’t plan to eat breakfast; I’m just too damn nervous about today. I do eventually manage to make myself just some butter on toast to chew down, but then my phone rings, making me jump.

I nearly choke on the toast in my mouth as I scramble for my device, hoping – praying – that it’s Bishop wanting to make amends for last night.

But it’s not Bishop. It’s my brother.

“Good luck with today, sis.”

“Thanks, Axel.”

“I hope it goes well for you,” he says, in a rare moment of sincerity from him. “You deserve it. You’ve always been so persistent and focused on your goal of making it here. You’ve earned everything that’s coming to you.”

“Thanks.”

“You really have, though. I love you, little sis.”

I think I want to cry.

“I love you too, big bro.”

It’s weird for him to be so earnestly encouraging when our entire relationship is founded on our near-constant ribbing.