Page 19 of Brutal Titan

Victoria

Slowly navigating the driveway, I maneuver to the garage, dodging some vehicles lined around. They must be the early arrivals, as it’s not late enough for the party to be in full swing. There’re times I enjoy my house being the preferred hangout, then there are times like tonight where I just wish Asher wasn’t selected as this weekend’s party host.

Closing the garage, I sit in the comfort of my car, already hearing the bass from the loud music. Maybe I’ll join in later, but right now, I just want to head straight to my room and avoid everyone.

Pulling the door open, the music blares as I make my way upstairs. Forcing a smile, I wave, saying hi to a few familiar faces. Stepping inside my room, I pull the door closed behind me, thankful to have avoided the one familiar face I don’t want to see. I know I made the right decision last night, but the fact that he doesn’t remember—and probably hadn’t meant a word of it—hurts worse than anything. I’m stuck with the memory of his words. How the desperation in his voice resonated in his eyes as he begged for forgiveness. The feeling of wanting nothing more than to forgive him while he doesn’t remember a freakin’ thing about it.

Pushing off the door from where I’d been leaning against it, I toss my bag on the desk. Looking over to the bed, something catches my eye. A black sketchbook, identical to the one that Elliot has thrown into the pond twice, sits in the middle of my bed. Its leather feels smooth, untarnished as my fingers brush across it. Hesitantly picking it up, I flip it open, spotting a handwritten note on the inside of the cover.

Hopeless or not, I meant every word.

E

He remembers.My hand clamps over my mouth, silencing the gasp as I read the words over and over. Why? Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Why does he have to be the biggest jerk in the world and then do something like this … something sweet. Caring. Something that makes me think he might actually have feelings for me, until he flips the switch and becomes a brutal jerk—again. Push. Pull. Up. Down. Elliot Bass is determined to twist me every which way; seemingly enjoying it way too much as evidenced by his cheerful demeanor while I’m fraught with turmoil. Soon he’ll toss me aside, his brutal game with my heart never ceasing. And I’m sick of it.

Gripping the smooth leather, I swiftly exit my room, hoping I’ll find him in the guest room. But even if he’s not, I have something I need to return, and I don’t care who is around to see it. Flinging the door open, I charge into the room. He’s lying across the bed, his head turns to me, spotting the sketchbook in my hand. Sitting up, he tosses his phone on the bed before standing, cramming his hands in his pockets. He begins to speak, but I don’t want to hear it. Any of it.

Gathering all my strength, I sling the sketchbook at him. His arms come up, shielding his face, as he shifts to the side. The book just misses his stupid head.

“What the hell?” He looks behind him, shock flashing across his face before turning to meet my gaze with a genuine Elliot-Bass-is-a-pompous-ass smirk. “I’m guessing you didn’t like it.”

Walking forward, I move in front of him. “I hate it. I hate you. All of this is nothing but a joke to you, and I’m sick of it.” Spinning, I take a step away, but his hand grips my arm, pulling me back to him. My hands shoot out in front of me, palms pressing against his chest as his mouth approaches mine.

“This isn’t a joke.” His hand lifts, his palm brushing gently along my cheek before he slides his fingers into my hair, gripping the unruly locks. As he leans forward, his forehead rests against mine, my eyes snap shut. “Hopeless or not, I meant every word.” Tenderly feathering his lips over mine, he kisses me with such affection, I almost forget the brutal monster behind it.

Shoving away from him, I wipe my hand over my face, wanting to remove the sensation he evoked from my lips. “So did I, and I can’t do this.”

“Bass!” Wade’s voice booms down the hallway, causing Elliot to halt as he moves towards me just as Wade barges through the doorway, not giving a second thought to the intense scene as he shouts, “Get your asses downstairs. There’s booze to drink and hot bodies to grind against.” Wade moves his arms in front of him, mimicking his hands rubbing along a girl’s body as he performs some raunchy dance moves that I’ve witnessed more times than I care to recall.

“Sounds like just what I need,” Elliot mumbles, sidestepping me.

Standing alone in the room, I reluctantly walk to the door after a beat, feeling every bit of tension as I make my way back down the hallway. There’s no longer a chance I’ll join the festivities tonight because I’m not sure which part Elliot thinks he needs, the booze or the girls, but neither leads down a good path, at least not for me. Exhaustion weighs on me as I tell myself that’s the real reason I’m staying put. A quick shower later, I pull on a cami and a pair of cotton shorts, and climb into bed. I put my earbuds in, turning the music just loud enough to drown out the excessive noise but low enough so I can drift off to sleep.

* * *

I startle awake, looking around the room before glancing to the window. Pulling the earbuds out, I’m met with silence. Thankfully. Picking up my phone, I check the time before plopping back down on the bed. I turn over, attempting to fall back to sleep when I think I hear a noise outside my door. Listening closely, there’s nothing that catches my attention as I toss and turn for a few moments before throwing the down comforter off my legs, sliding out the bed. Slowly opening the door, I glance down the hallway to find everything quiet. Tiptoeing down to the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water before heading back upstairs. It must’ve been a good party because Wade is lying on the rug, a towel wrapped around his waist. I won’t even question how that happened. I don’t want to think about what’s underneath.

A horrid sound sails through the air, halting me in my tracks, my fingers clutch the icy bottle as I hold my breath. Realizing it’s a desperate screech followed by frantic mumblings, I hurry down the hall, scared what I will find because I’d recognize his voice anywhere—Elliot.

Unsure what I’ll find but knowing I have to check on him, I force the door open, searching around as my eyes adjust to the darkness. Except for the bed where Elliot’s thrashing around in violent, jerky movements to escape something that’s not there, the room is empty. Pushing off the door, it closes behind me as I dash to the bed, cautiously reaching for him. Nudging his arm, I feel his clammy skin. “Elliot.”

He thrashes, swinging his arms around as a sob escapes his mouth.

“Elliot, wake up.” Pleading, my hands press against his chest as I attempt to shake him out of his nightmare. I’m afraid I already know what horror he’s trapped in.

His eyes fly open, his breath hitching as his fingers roughly clasp around my wrist, holding it in place. An excruciating look covers his face.

“Are you all right?”

His fingers release my wrist as his hands scrub over his face. Breathlessly, he answers, “Yeah. I’m fine,” before his hands stop rubbing his eyes and instead still over his face. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed or hiding from me or simply trying to wake up all the way.

“Are you sure? I was in the hallway and could hear …”

“I’m fine.” His harsh tone does nothing to convince me of his words.

“Okay,” I whisper, turning to leave. His firm hand catches my wrist, holding me in place as I look to him.

“Stay with me, please.”

Even in the darkness I recognize the desperate plea in his eyes, and the last thing I want to do is walk away or leave him alone after the real-life nightmare he’d just relived. Turning back to the bed, his hand releases my wrist as he pulls the cover back. Slowly climbing into bed, I slip under the covers as he pulls them over us. His arm hooks around my shoulder, bringing me flush against his body and I rest my head on his chest. A tender stroke of his hand brushes down my back as I relax against him. His hand slips under the thin material of my camisole, caressing my bare skin.

Lifting my head, I rest my chin on his chest to find he’s already looking at me. He continues stroking my bare skin with one hand and lifts the other to my face, his finger tenderly tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I shouldn’t ask, but I want to know even though I fear the answer. “Does it happen a lot? The nightmares?”

His eyes remain locked on mine, and I think he’s not going to answer. But his fingers thread into my hair as he whispers, “Every time I close my eyes.”

The words slice through me. I can’t begin to imagine the vivid, horrible images he has burned in his mind, seeing them on a continuous reel night after night, reliving the most horrible moment. My eyes snap shut as I attempt to rein in my emotions. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t, Victoria. Don’t pity me.” Opening my eyes, I find him still looking at me as he slowly shifts forward, softly kissing me as he whispers against my lips, “Just don’t leave me too.”

Unable to find words, I press my lips to his, relishing the gentle, tender kiss. The hand caressing my back is joined by the other one as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me snug. Settling back, he gives me a soft kiss on my forehead and I rest back against his chest. All of this feels like it fits—his lips against mine, his hands on me, his body beneath me—only I know it’s a delusion on both of our parts. We’re caught up in the moment. He’s struggling, battling his demons, and I’m aching to help him.

Once his breathing steadies, coming out in soft spurts, I’m relieved that he’s fallen asleep. Hopefully, his nightmares will stay away for now because they are sure to return when he wakes up in the morning.