I wasn’t sure why, but his question made me want to crawl into my bed and hide under the covers. I gave a shrug I hoped looked casual. “My mom says it’s better if I don’t know all the details about my conditions.”
Tristan turned his full attention on me, eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know what diseases you have? Or why you take these?”
“My mom’s a nurse.” My voice was tight, and I hated that I felt like I needed to answer his questions, even though he was crossing so many lines I’d lost track. All I needed to know was I was wearing nothing but my underwear and Tristan Blackwood was standing just a few feet away from me. The only thing separating us was my comforter, which I was clutching like my life depended on it. I especially hated how I couldn’t stop thinking that he’d probably laugh if he saw my body—how disappointing the view would be compared to the girls he probably was used to.
But I didn’t want to know or care what Tristan would think of my body. It was irrelevant, even if my brain kept fixating on it.
“So?” He asked. “I’d want to know what was wrong with me.”
“You’re an asshole. Mystery solved.” I wanted to clap a hand over my mouth, but that would’ve meant letting go of the comforter.
Tristan tilted his head, still watching me with those narrowed, wolfish eyes. He walked to my bed and put his hand on my thigh through the comforter. It was a hard squeeze at first, and then he slowly slid it upwards. “Can you feel that?”
I squirmed backwards, trying to get away from his touch. “Yes. I’m not in a wheelchair because I’m paralyzed. I’m always dizzy, and it’s worse when I stand. The chair keeps me from falling and getting hurt.”
He let his hand linger on my leg for another heartbeat, then took it away, returning to my drawers to look through the bottles. “So, it works, then?”
“What works?”
“Never mind.” He smirked to himself. Tristan finally settled on a bottle, unscrewed the cap, and held up one of the green pills inside. “Whatever, this will do.” He shoved it in his pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking this to my house. You want it, you’ve got to come and get it.”
“You told me to leave you alone.”
He shrugged. “School hasn’t started yet, and I’m bored after practice. Keeping tabs on you will be my little hobby for now. So I can count on you to take a little joy ride to my place later, right?”
“Fine. I’ll come but leave the pills. I take them every morning.”
He checked his phone. “Great. I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few hours then, won’t I?”* * *I took all my pills, minus the one from the bottle Tristan swiped, and went to the bathroom to get ready. I carefully stood from my chair, using the bathroom counter to keep myself steady while I looked at my reflection. I was still wearing the bra and panties from the night before, and I couldn’t help wondering if Tristan had seen me like this before he woke me. I ran my eyes across my body, trying to see myself through his mind.
I felt a wave of revulsion pass through me. I was so plain and pale and just… not. I wasn’t the kind of girl that guys like Tristan wanted. I was the kind they bullied, and that was exactly what pissed me off so much about all of this. He made me want to be more than normal. He made me wish I was strong and sexy and confident—the kind of girl who could turn a blind eye to him and make him seethe for being ignored. I wished I was the kind of girl guys like him craved, because then I wouldn’t feel so powerless and pathetic.
With a sigh, I pushed the thought from my mind and went through my morning routine with all the tedious slowness my conditions required. A bath, because showers were a recipe for falls. Sitting in front of the vanity in my room to put on makeup, because standing at the mirror safely required at least one hand at all times. And of course, I had to fight the nausea that came shortly after taking my pills for most of the morning.
As soon as my mom kissed me goodbye and left for work, I went out back and headed for Tristan’s house.
I spent most of my way there thinking of what I’d say. I also briefly considered going back and getting the broom handle, attaching a knife to the end, and just spearing him through the heart to be done with it. Unfortunately, my wheelchair wasn’t much of a chariot, and I doubted I’d manage more than pissing him off even more—if that was possible.