Page 26 of Vicious Titan

“Do I need to take him to the hospital? Call the police? What did you give him?”

“Ah. No need for all that. He’ll have the squirts for a while, but he’ll be fine.”

“A laxative? You spiked his drink with a freakin’ laxative?”

“Disappointed I didn’t poison him and save you from another boring date?” he jokes, but I’m not so sure he wouldn’t resort to something so evil.

“Our so-called boring dates are better than the ones you took me on.” I lean forward, glaring at him as I continue. “Oh, wait. That’s right. We never went on a date because we were just fucking.”

Finally. The smug smile evaporates. I thought that would do the job, and sure enough, it hit a raw nerve. Elliot wanted to go on a date but far away, hidden where nobody would see us together, like everything else we did. At least I made one smart decision where this dumbass was involved.

Standing from the table, I grab my phone as I walk to the front of the room. It’s not like I can go check on Dalton, but I have to do something. His misery is my fault even if I wasn’t the one who’d handed him the drink. I should’ve known Elliot wouldn’t let us have a decent time together.

Me: You okay?

Dalton: I think so. I might be awhile.

Me: I’m sorry.

Dalton: Not your fault.

I don’t have the heart to tell him it is. At least not like this, while he’s still in middle of unmerited torment.

The remainder of my night is spent propped against the wall near the bathroom, overwhelmed with remorse. When Dalton finally emerges, an excruciatingly embarrassed expression is on his face and he avoids looking directly at me. Everyone piles into the limo as the event winds down. To say the ride home is awkward is a vast understatement. Dalton remains quiet, as does Asher, while Elliot keeps his stupid, smug glare pinned on me. To top it off, my parents unceasingly argue in a grand finale for the miserable night.

Once we arrive back to my house, Dalton’s nonstop apology for messing up the night makes me feel even worse, so I explain what happened and take my turn to apologize. He doesn’t seem mad about it, and in fact, it’s almost like he knew Elliot was responsible.

I’m very surprised when he says, “So, probably not the best time to ask, but I’d love to take you out again.”

“You actually want to go out with me again?” Is he crazy? Why would he be willing to put up with the circus I introduced into his life?

“Yes, except maybe this time we don’t tell anyone where we’re going or accept any shots from a certain someone.” His laughter at the situation doesn’t stifle my guilt or the feeling that every date will be a disaster until Elliot Bass is completely removed from my life … and my heart. When will that be? I hope soon because I don’t want to do this anymore, any of it.

“I can’t. If things were different, and maybe someday they will be, but I just can’t do this.”

“I get it.” He gives me a half-smile. “If anything changes, give me a call.”

Even if things change, I couldn’t do that to him, so I give him the honesty I would want. “It won’t. I’m sorry.” Because Elliot will always be around. Until I get far away from him, things will remain the same. And the scary thought is, even if I’m far away from Elliot, he’ll still find a way to ruin whatever good there is in my life. “Goodbye, Dalton.”

He gives me a knowingly nod as he steps back. “Goodbye.”

I know I made the right decision because I’m not upset that Dalton is walking away.

Stepping through the front door, I’m unable to shake off my anger; all of it is directed at Elliot, who stands watching me as he waits at the bottom of the staircase. Firmly gripping the solid banister, I steady myself as I stomp up the stairs, my other hand clutching my stomach. My jaw aches from clenching so tight to keep from railing on him, telling him exactly how much his little stunt hurt me. I won’t let him see the agony or the pain he’s caused, only the anger.

“Victoria, wait.” His pained voice infuriates me further.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I need to say something to you.”

Not happening. I don’t stop. Hurrying to my room, I slip inside quickly, slamming the door and locking it.

He bangs against the hard surface. “Please open the door.”

Moving away, I wiggle to unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor as I head to the en suite. He doesn’t deserve a response, not even a refusal. Stepping into the shower, the barriers between us thankfully drown out his attempt to continue his foolish request to try and undo the damage he’s caused. Why bother tonight when he will just stomp out any progress we make tomorrow anyway?