I didn’t take into account that he’d turn around, wrap his arms around my waist, and pull me closer to him. And I certainly didn’t expect him to nuzzle me, peck me on the back, and hug me tight. Like a real boyfriend would.
With only just a small detail missing.
He’s not my boyfriend … But we’ll get to that part later.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I snuggle deeper into him and let his breathing lull me to sleep. It’s heaven, sleeping next to him.
Until he wakes up screaming his lungs out.
Chapter 21
Thomas
Her tears and defeated face are the only things on my mind as I hear her speak. She’s not happy. She’s not feeling good. Everything is wrong, including me … including her.
It’s just like before, only worse.
Shreds of memories fly past.
Her, screaming at me.
Her, crying in a corner.
Her, not getting out of bed until late at night.
Her tear-stained face and that endless smile that permanently marked her face when I saw her below my window.
So beautiful.
So much ruin.
My lungs break with noise that I can only describe as screeching. A desperate attempt to breathe while suffocating on misery.
That’s when I wake up.
Sweat rolls down my back and forehead, and I jump out of bed like a ghost is haunting me. I turn on the light and look around. It’s then that I notice the girl in my bed. Hailey.
She looks at me, blanket pulled up to her shoulders, her eyes scared.
“Oh, god …” I murmur. “Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “You were yelling. What’s wrong?”
I swallow and push back the lump in my throat. “Nothing.” I turn around and walk into the living room, immediately checking that the oven is off. Then I close all the windows and check the bathroom to make sure none of the faucets are dripping.
As I turn around, I come face to face with Hailey.
“You’re acting strange.” She folds her arms. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I frown. “I’m fine; go back to bed.”
When I try to pass her, she places her hand on the wall next to me. “Not without you.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Just go on ahead,” I say, but she’s not listening.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Something’s wrong. You wake up screaming, and you go check every damn thing in the house?”
I sigh. “It’s nothing. Just let it go.”
I push past her, but she still opens her mouth. “It’s something you’re not letting go. You just don’t wanna tell me.”
I go to my kitchen and take a bottle of whiskey from the cabinets, then pour myself a much-needed drink.
“Drinking? In the middle of the night?” She comes closer and raises her brow at me, gazing at me with a judging look.
“What?” I say, holding the glass. “It’s my house. I can have a drink when I want.”
She picks up the bottle and grabs another glass. “Fine. Then I’m drinking too.”
I place the glass down on the table. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not? You’re drinking too.” She picks up the glass and holds it close to her mouth.
“Stop.”
She pauses, her eyes darting to me.
“If I stop, you stop,” she says. “You told me I should quit smoking. Well, you should quit drinking.”
I frown. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Oh, really? Then what are you doing with two bottles of whiskey and rum?” She points at my trashcan, which contains more bottles.
Fuck. She caught me.
Sighing out loud, I turn around and growl at the sink. Then I throw the contents of my glass down the drain. Goddammit. Why does she always have to do that? Why does she always manage to puncture me and go right to my soul?
“What did you see?” she asks.
“What?”
Suddenly, she’s behind me, and she places her hand on my shoulder. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare, wasn’t it? Something you’ve dreamed many times before. That’s why you’re barging around.”
“I’m not …”
Her arms wrap around my waist, and she rests her head on my back, silencing me. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
A sudden rush of terror washes over me.
Those words undo me.
Literally make me want to sink to my knees and cry.
That, or run a million miles, as far away as I can get from her.
I don’t know what it is about her that scares me so much.
Maybe it’s because she forces me to face myself. Or because she gives me something I’ve not had in such a long time, it scares the living shit out of me.
Love.
Actual love.
Not just the love of my dick or the love for the way I fuck.
But compassionate love. Someone to talk to. Someone who listens.
And it terrifies me … because I’m not supposed to have that.
I don’t deserve it.
And especially not with her. A student. Someone I’m not supposed to want.
But I want her in more ways than just around my dick.