ChapterTwelve
Wynter
The drumlinein my head plays a less thrumming melody this time. I’d woken up with a kink in my neck and feeling like I’d eaten cotton balls. My mind tries to regain consciousness and as it does flashbacks of twelve hours ago bombard me. Him taking care of me, washing my face, holding me.
Weston lay against my front, our legs a tangle of limbs, his arm wrapped snugly around my waist, holding me as if I’d run away. It’s an intimate position, as if we’d fallen in love in our sleep and couldn’t get enough of one another.
I tilt my eyes up to look at his sleeping face. He looks peaceful. A smile crosses his lips and I wonder what he’s dreaming. Wondering if it’s about me for a moment before pushing that thought away. His dark, long eyelashes fan across his tan, chiseled cheekbones.
His bed head is clear. Each curly lock is mussed in every which direction as if someone had run their fingers through it during intimacy. Jealousy burns through me. My arch-nemesis may be my biggest downfall. He will also never truly be mine. A checkmate will happen, the game will fall away, and we’ll be left with pieces spread across the board.
I’d had it once - the perfect life. Perfect marriage prospect, a job waiting for me, a silver spoon, and the best schooling. That was before the checkmate - the fall. A love based on lies. A family made of arrangements and hurts. A life I didn’t want to lead.
My eyes trail from the tattoos that peek out the top of the V-neck tee shirt he’s wearing and travel up his muscular neck, pouty lips, solid cheeks, and catch golden hazel eyes peering back at me. Those lips I’d been eyeing, curve at the corners and the cocky smirk is back.
“Good Morning, Wyn. How are you feeling?” Fingers graze my skin as he pushes a lock of red hair from my face. A blush crawls up my cheeks. I can’t help it. His touch gets to me.
“Ugh. I feel like death warmed over.”
“Well, at least you don’t resemble an angry raccoon anymore.”
“How do you ruin such perfect moments by opening your mouth?”
“It’s one of my gifts, among other things…”
I roll my eyes at his arrogance. The sweet, caring man is long gone, replaced by the charming, cocky bastard who drives me crazy.
“I think it’s time I go home.”If only I could tell you… I hate that I want you this bad. That I want this. Us.Words never escape my lips. It’s for the best.
Rolling out of bed, I don’t look back at him as I grab my stuff and leave the room. Heavy footsteps follow me but I keep the path ahead, knowing I won’t be able to get rid of him that easily.
Letting myself out the front door, I hope it stays that way. It doesn’t.
“Wyn, wait. Why are you running?”
“It’s called self-preservation.” I call over my shoulder, refusing to turn around and face him. He’d been so amazing yesterday. I’d felt like dying, and he’d held my hair, washed my face, offered himself to me so I wouldn’t be alone.
I can’t understand the sudden need to pull away. Or maybe I do. Being this close only causes hurt and counterfeit emotions. Tamping down my feelings seems like the best solution to my Croix problem.
He’s untwisted that barbed wire fence I erected around my heart. I’m terrified over it. Love doesn’t happen to people like us, people who come from family names like ours. Every union has a purpose, a function, and arrangement. I found that out the hard way with my ex-fiancé, Frances. Love doesn’t exist.
The doors open to the elevator and I jump on, but I’m not alone. “Hey, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in your head right now.” He tries to find my eyes, but I’m avoiding contact.
“It’s a lot to deal with, okay?” I muster up a smile, fake as it is.
He boxes me in against the wall after pressing the button for the lobby. Looking at me like I’m going to freeze him out. The more I try to get away from him, the more we crash into each other like bumper cars. Tilting on an ever-spinning axis.
He leans down, placing a featherlight kiss to my lips, and a tear slips down my cheek. Each tender touch and look tears at my emotions, chipping me down just a little further.
My palms grow sweaty and my heart pounds. These feelings need to go away. I can’t deal with them. I slip across the elevator, hitting the button, urging it to go faster. The lights flash once, twice, and it comes to a grinding halt.
No, no, no. This is not happening to me.
I pace, willing myself to relax. My fears and insecurities whispering to me. Mocking me. Telling me there’s no way out. Why does love have to be so hard? Why do I want him so bad it hurts, yet I’m terrified to give him even a piece of my soul?
The lights go out and we’re met with screaming silence, the only thing between us is breathing itself. There’s no way out and no time frame.
So many feelings churn in my gut. I want to run, but I also don't. Looking up at him is the wrong thing to do. Hurt and insecurity stare back at me. “Are you okay?”
I look away. “Yes… I don’t know.”
Tiny shards of glass splinter beneath my skin, and fear of being in an enclosed space echoes loudly. Weston notices my shudder and reaches out. “What can I do?”
“Figure out how to get us out of here… I can’t do compact spaces… I need air.” Flashbacks of hiding in the closet as a child break through my brain. The kisses, touches, and I love you’s when my parents were out in public were a vast difference to the fights they had behind closed doors. It taught me that genuine love doesn’t exist. Physical abuse isn’t love. How can two people who claim they love each other act so cruelly to one another? I never understood it.