Ronan sits on the sofa, still in his uniform, minus the jacket that’s thrown over the armrest. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing his veiny, strong forearms as he inhales from a joint.
His other hand is holding his phone up, and he glares at it as if contemplating cracking it to pieces.
All the doubts I had — and still do — evaporate at that sight. He’s waiting for a reply while staying alone.
Ronan isn’t the type of person who likes loneliness. While Aiden and Cole are completely comfortable with it and Xander can gravitate towards it sometimes, Ronan is always with people, one way or another.
At first, I thought it was because he loved partying so much, but it’s probably something more.
To find him willingly alone is a first. He always makes up dramatic fights with Aiden and Xander when they pick their girlfriends over him. The fact that he kicked them out to stare at his screen is new.
He types something and my phone vibrates. I check it with a lump in my throat.
Ronan: You know, I hate being alone. It’s when the demons come back and want to rage and burn the whole fucking place down.
I swallow, staring between his text and his face.
Demons.
For some reason, I suspected he had them, but I never thought they were real, I thought maybe I was projecting myself on him. Turns out, his demons are real; he just hides them so well you’d never even presume they’re there.
I doubt the others know about their existence.
Sucking in a breath, I type back.
Teal: I stay alone because that’s how I can control my demons. People bring them out.
As soon as I hit Send, I stare back at him. A smile tilts his lips and scrunches his beautiful face — his stupid beautiful face that I can’t stop dreaming of.
He straightens in his seat then types.
Ronan: We’re opposites that way. But hey, luckily there’s some shit people say about opposites attracting.
Ronan: That’s you and me by the way, not you and some other fucker.
Instead of continuing the dance over the phone, I quietly drop my backpack and phone on the floor and walk up to him.
He’s still staring at his phone when I stand in front of him, blocking his view. His eyes slide from the phone to me and stay on me.
The more he looks at my face, the harder it becomes to breathe. It’s like he’s confiscating my air, my sanity, and all my better judgment.
He’s confiscating things and feelings he has no right to.
“Whoa, this shit is good if it makes me see what I want.” He twirls the joint. “I need to add to my stash from that Liverpudlian, stat.”
“I’m really here,” I murmur.
“You’re not answering the text.” He waves the phone. “Can I make you do that while you’re standing here?”
I grab his phone and yank it from his fingers.
“Not on my phone, on yours…or your original image’s, or whatever.”
“I’m actually here Ronan. It’s not an image.”
He stares blankly for a second then without warning, he grabs my wrist and pulls me down. An excited yelp leaves my lips as I end up on his warm, hard lap.
He palms my cheek with the other hand and then pinches.