LUCAS
It isn’t until my desk phone rings and startles the shit out of me that I realize I was zoned out again. No surprise there, of course. I’ve been zoned out for a week. No matter what I’m doing, my head is always somewhere else.
Per usual, I don’t want to talk to the person calling.
“Can you get that?” I call out to my assistant. “I’m busy.”
I know Lauren won’t accept that excuse forever, but as far as I’m concerned, that’s her fucking problem. She needs to take the hint before I end up saying or doing something I can’t take back. I hear the excuse my assistant gives, regretful but firm. That’s one problem taken care of.
For now. She’ll find another way to remind me of her existence before long.
I don’t need her right now. I doubt I ever did. All the so-called help she’s given me has done nothing but make things worse.
I already know I’m a fuckup. That bringing Delilah to Corium might have been the biggest mistake in a life full of them.
And that I can’t backslide into destructive habits.
Frankly, I don’t give a fuck about what I’m supposed to do or what I shouldn’t do. I’ve tried all this time to turn things around, be a better man, and look where it got me. What a waste of time.
I was already prone to hurting others. Destroying lives. Ending them. I still have that ability within me. Now, I get to feel bad about it after the fact. If all this therapy didn’t change anything about who I am, what’s the point?
Like that night in Delilah’s room, it’s a miracle I didn’t kill her—or at least hurt her badly, as I was close to doing when I first threw open the door. I wanted blood. Her blood on my hands.
How did things end up? With me passing out after blubbering like a fucking moron and spending the night in her bed. We were here for all of twenty-four hours at that point, and I went against my own ground rules.
What’s worse, I never got around to warning her about Xander.
Now, I don’t want to. I’m afraid of what will happen if I spend another minute with her. What is it about her that gets into my bones? I can’t shake her no matter how I try, and I’m struggling.
The temptation to go to her rather than sit at this desk and pretend I’m paying attention to my work is stronger than the temptation to drown my sorrows in a whiskey bottle. Considering the way I’m struggling with that, it’s saying something. She’s stronger than any addiction or craving I’ve ever known. The release she’s brought me is on par with the release I get during a fight. I don’t need to beat anybody to a pulp to earn it either.
Though I can’t pretend watching fear spark in her eyes isn’t a turn-on. Even now, sitting here, my cock stirs at the memory of her short, shallow breaths. The way she backed up against the headboard as I crawled to her like a lion prepared to devour his prey.
Granted, the memory is a little fuzzy. Considering everything I drank that night, it’s amazing I made it to her room in the first place. There are things I remember clearly, though. Being close to her. The way she flinched when I punched the wall hard enough to leave my knuckles aching the next day. There’s a satisfaction in that that I can’t deny.
But I also can’t indulge it. Because indulging in it means accepting everything that comes with being close to her. The temptation to do more than terrify her, hurt her. The temptation to hold her. To open my cracked, blackened heart and pour everything out. I’m a disease, a cancer that will eat her alive, and I can’t allow myself to do that. She’s been through enough, and even I’m not selfish enough to do that.
Despite everything, she sees me. Understands me. And like she said, it goes both ways. Maybe because of Aspen, maybe not. Maybe I don’t want to fuck up again by punishing somebody for someone else’s sins.
As far as I know, she’s all right—there aren’t any reports to the contrary, at least. Not like I’ve gone out of my way to ask anyone about her, of course. That would be too obvious. And I don’t need word getting back to her somehow that I was interested. I need to be strong. I know I can be. No matter how much it makes me feel like tearing this school down around me.
Here I am, shuffling papers. What a pathetic joke. I might as well be in a cage as I place yet another file folder in my outbox. It’s a gilded cage, comfortable and even impressive, but it keeps me locked away when all I want is to break free and be who I was before.
I didn’t like that man, but at least he knew who he was.
There’s a knock on the door. My head snaps up, and my heart begins to race. Like Pavlov’s fucking dog, salivating on cue. I disgust myself.
I stare at the door, wishing I could see through it. If it’s Delilah, I’d rather avoid answering. I’ve been so strong all week. A single glance at her and it will have all been for nothing.
You stupid prick. How many students are in this place? She’s one of many. Right, not counting staff on top of that. I’m going to lose my mind before much longer.
“Lucas?” Another knock. This time, I stand and cross the room, recognizing the voice of an annoyed student.
Quinton is waiting for me, arms folded.
“What can I do for you?” I ask, glad for another distraction. Even if I’m not in what anyone would consider a conversational mood, I’m glad to see him. I’d like to know how my daughter is doing at the very least. She hasn’t gone out of her way to visit me, but we didn’t leave things on good terms. I still don’t know how to deal with her deception.
“Can I come in?” He glances over his shoulder and out the open door to the hall. Now I see his apprehension for what it is.