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I head back to my room and slump down on the edge of the bed. His clothes, which he discarded rather haphazardly last night, are nowhere to be found. I cover my face with my hands as I realize the only real explanation.

He left.

I reach for my phone, hoping that maybe he texted me. I hope there wasn’t an emergency or anything. If there was, he would have let me know. He would have woken me up or something. Or at least I’d like to think so.

I open my phone, and my heart plummets. I have no new messages. No notifications of any kind. He fucking left. Again. And this time, it’s different because we didn’t just have sex last night. It wasn’t just a hookup. It was more than that. It was sex that actually meant something, and I know he fucking felt it too. My feelings for him were so strong last night, everything amplified. I knew something amazing was blooming between us.

And yet he fucking left.

Something happened right before we settled in to sleep last night. Some little shift in his eyes. He seemed bothered. Enough that I had to ask him if he was okay. I should have pushed him more then. I should have made him talk to me. But I was so content and tired that I just wanted to hold him and enjoy the moment before we went to sleep.

Dammit. I should have done more. I knew something was off.

If things are going to progress with us, we have to talk. We have so much to work on. We have to be able to talk through this stuff.

I run my hands through my hair and over my face, frustrated. Letting out a huge sigh, I slowly get up and grab my phone.

I open my texts and start to type one out, but I stop after just the first word. I don’t want to text him in the heat of the moment. I should definitely give myself time to cool down.

I set my phone back on the nightstand and head into the bathroom for a shower. Twenty minutes later, I’m showered and dressed, and sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee. I don’t really feel much calmer, but at least the sting of anger has dulled.

I open up my phone again, take a deep breath, and start typing out a message.

Me: Hey. I woke up to an empty bed this morning. That was not what I expected. Let me know you’re okay.

I delete it and start again, thinking it sounded like I was annoyed. I’m not annoyed. I’m hurt.

Me: Hey. I hope everything is okay—I woke up to an empty bed this morning and it made me sad.

That sounds pathetic. Deleted.

Me: Hey Lycan. I woke up to an empty bed this morning after an amazing night. I hope you are okay. Talk to me.

Finally satisfied with my text, I send it and put my phone on the couch beside me as I lie my head back on the pillows. I wish he was here, with me. I think it’s safe to say that last night did something to me. I gave a big piece of myself to Dare. I can only hope with time he realizes that and maybe feels the same.

Chapter 43

Darian

Lev: Hey. So it’s been a few days now. I guess you need space? I just need to know you’re okay.

Lev: Dare…?

Sitting heavily in the Adirondack chair out on the patio at my house, I reread the text that Lev sent the day after the bonfire. I have lost count how many times I have read it. I open my little tin can and pull out a joint. After lighting it up and putting it to my lips, I take a deep inhale and hold it for a moment before blowing it out. Just that act has my nerves calming and my brain quieting. I need to get myself together and figure a few things out on my own before I continue whatever this is with Lev. I plan on talking to him about it soon, but I need to work out a few things for me first. I just hope I’m doing the right thing.

I lean my head back on the chair and let the cold air accost my neck. I’ve been in a spiral of frustration and self-loathing since I snuck out of Lev’s house the morning after the bonfire. I’ve been mulling the situation over in my head and feel a bit of guilt and a lot of remorse for just leaving Lev’s like I did. I’m also being a brat because I haven’t responded to any of his texts for more than a few days, and all I’ve really been doing is drinking, smoking, and sleeping when I can, which, if I’m honest, hasn’t been much. I’m more desperate for touch than I’ve ever been, after getting so much from Lev recently. I’ve thought about calling Lance several times, but I’ve managed to hold back. I’m still hopeful that something will work out with Lev, and I don’t want to have anything mess that up if it does.

I run all of the thoughts that I’m having through my head about eight hundred times a day, replaying our time together from when Lev met me in the parking lot at the lake. I play it through, like a movie, up to the point where I leave his house after he took me in his bed. Sex with him was otherworldly, and maybe that’s part of the reason I’m having such a hard time with it. I mean, couldn’t he have been an asshole in bed and not cared about my pleasure or comfort or something? Instead, he was sexy and demanding and gentle, all at the same time. It felt like he really cared about me and that he wasn’t just using me to get off. It was different. It felt like it meant something.

And so, like every fucked-up person would do, I freaked out and ran away.

I’ll admit that I’m embarrassed and sad and frustrated. I think it’s more at myself than the irrational feelings of anger and . . . angst toward Lev. Puffing again, I blow out the side of my mouth and survey the backyard. It’s cold tonight, but I’m wearing my favorite onesie pajamas. They’re ridiculous, but they’re my favorite, and they’re warm, so I enjoy them. They sort of feel like a warm hug, which I desperately need right now.

I stay outside until my teeth are chattering. Then I snuff out the joint, put the unused half back into the tin, and close it. I grab everything and go back into the house.

I’m feeling pretty messed up by this point, but I go upstairs and settle on the bed again. I think that there’s an indentation in the mattress from the amount of time that I’ve spent in this spot lately. I check my phone, but I don’t have any new messages.

There’s a bag of pretzels and a bottle of beer on my nightstand from earlier, and I open the pretzels and start to eat, grabbing my notebook so I can sketch a bit. I write a few notes so that I feel productive before putting it to the side and taking a swig from the bottle. I know these are not the best coping skills, and I should probably go for a walk or work out or some shit, but when these moods hit me, I hermit and just want to be alone. I take another drink from the bottle, letting the thin liquid warm my throat as it travels down, and then I crawl into my bed.