Fucking diet.
Walking over to my sofa, I flop down, staring out at the trees, searching for Daemon’s preferred hiding space. But like every other time I’ve scanned the garden, I don’t find it.
He could be out there right now, watching me, and I’d have no idea.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I stare down at my lack of notifications.
“What are you playing at, devil boy?” I whisper.
Part of me wants to keep pushing him, to keep trying to discover that sweet, caring boy that I know is hiding. But there’s also a huge part of me that tells me to remember the brutal, dangerous, obsessive side of him and to run the hell away.
But I can’t.
Whether I like it or not, he’s a part of me now. He’s managed to brand himself on my soul, and no matter how many times he shuts me out, I can’t stop craving him.
I let out a heavy sigh and lower my phone.
I sit there for the longest time, sipping on my water and reliving the last few days, wondering where the hell we’re meant to go from here.
When my phone does ping beside me with a message, I startle.
But when I look down, I find that it’s the wrong twin.
Alex: Did you get home safe?
Calli: Yep, home and ready to embark on a two-week study session.
Alex: You really know how to live, huh? If you need a buddy, you know where I am. *winky emoji* *book emoji* *pen emoji*
Calli: I’ll keep that in mind. But I need to focus…
Alex: What are you suggesting exactly?
Calli: That you’ll find an excuse to take your top off and distract me with abs. *winky emoji*
Alex: You know you love it.
Calli: Hmm…
Alex: Message if you need me. x
A smile curls at my lips at his offer. He really is a good friend. I just wish he’d stop looking at me like he wants me when I have nothing to offer him.
Pushing from the sofa before I end up falling asleep, I unpack and search through my cupboards for something to eat.
“Fuck,” I hiss, finding them bare of anything decent, thanks to Mum’s new bloody diet regime.
Refusing to settle for dried fruit and freaking nuts to study with, I shove my feet into my Converse by the stairs and grab my jacket and bag, heading back upstairs.
I’m almost at the front door when Dad’s booming voice echoes off the walls around me.
“Where are you going?”
His tone immediately gets my back up. I spend most of my time in this house alone, with him not giving a shit about what I’m doing. But then the second he’s here, he seems to think he can suddenly control my every movement.
“Out. Problem?” I hiss.
“Out where?”