Chapter Eleven
Days alone hardly felt like anything anymore. For a while, the drugs did more than just numb the pain in my side. Tiny white tablets offered a sense of peace, granted me the ability to sleep, and in the three days since our night at the door, sleep was about the only thing I’d been able to do. He’d come in with the dark and he’d be gone by morning. Michael was making sure that the incident in the bathroom would never happen again, that the gentleness I saw beneath the door was a one-time event. He was making sure not to feed the voice that twisted my gut, but things with Michael and I had never been so simple.
If I asked him about it, he would lie. He would swear that he was only in my room when I was showering, only there to drop off my meds and another plate of food. He’d promise that he hadn’t been waiting outside the door every night and hadn’t been silently dropping off food every morning. It was the scent that gave him away now. Every morning, I woke up to his crisp cologne filling my lungs, every sleepless night lulled by its calming effect. When he couldn’t see me throughout the day, he made do with the time it was safe. He sat by my bed in the dark. Even if it was dangerous, Michael found the same peace in me that I’d found in him. We had some kind of routine— until another shift pulled us apart.
That night, when he woke me up, it wasn’t the cologne that filled my lungs.
He’d been gone all day, and now that he was home, he reeked of alcohol.
“Michael?”
My groggy voice was met only with the gentle rattle of a pill bottle. Sloppy hands knocked over the clock resting on the nightstand, and as sleep clouded my head, I struggled to sit up. My head buzzed with the pain of a disturbed sleep, with the rush of medication. Though, maybe even that was a lie. I didn’t sleep without Michael beside me. When my frantic eyes opened, they weren’t searching the room. They were just searching Michael.
“Go to sleep.”
The command came with a creek of the floorboards, and my voice caught in my throat. “Wait.” Another creak powered my tired body. Though, tossing myself out of bed didn’t mean that I had enough wherewithal to stand on my own two feet. As my body stumbled forward, hands grabbing out for any piece of him that was left, Michael’s fingers wrapped around my forearm. A single jerk tugged me back up, and as the space between us closed, I caught sight of the thing my gut had told me to avoid.
Something was wrong.
We were connected now, and when his stomach twisted, so did mine.
“Michael?”
The name wouldn’t soften him, but as my hand moved to cup his cheek, even that defence fell apart. When my palm touched his sizzling skin, Michael nuzzled into my hand. It was the same softness that pulled me into him all those years ago, made him the same boy who thought I was crazy for doing something as simple as ordering him coffee. Wherever Michael was from, whatever made him, had never shown him kindness.
“What’s wrong?”
The question had a way of chilling him. Simple words gave way to an awful clarity, and while Michael did jerk from my grip, his fingers wouldn’t release my wrists. For the first time in a long time, it was Michael who wasn’t able to let go.
“I told you not to fucking push me.”
“I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”
“Help me?” His echo sent a shiver over my skin. “What the fuck have you ever done for me?”
This time, I wouldn’t let myself bite back. I wouldn’t let my lips part with the anger he was so desperate to pull out of me. The silence would only take a second to force his eyes off me, and Michael took another step away. The only thing that ever seemed powerful enough to dull his anger was his sadness, and my stomach knotted.
“He was there when I went to your house.”
My brow knitted. “Who?”
“Don’t fucking—” His hiss had me recoiling, and Michael’s annoyance came out in another breath of frustration. His hands flexed twice at his side before finally daring a glance in my direction. “You told me you weren’t fucking him.”
“Who?”
“The kid,” he finally spit. “That kid from your office.”
“Tristan?”
“Don’t say his fucking name.” My body froze by the time his warmth was on me, rigid by the time he was in front of me. Always close enough to touch, never near enough to taste. “Not around me.”
The hiss chilled me. Every touch, every look, was a reminder of that thing that spent so long hunting me. This version of Michael couldn’t trust anyone— not even me. Silence allowed him the space he needed to pull his breathing back into control, and it was only when his vision darted so painfully between my lips and my eyes that I found the strength to speak again.
“I asked you to leave him alone.”
His face screwed into a sneer. “He was at your fucking house. The prick came to me.”
“Why are you mad at me then?”