Be with Me (Wait for You #2)(101)

Suddenly, it was like being sixteen all over again, cowering on the floor as Jeremy went into one of his rages over something so simple, so stupid. Helpless. Scared. Confused. Body and hands shaking.

“I’m not crazy, and it’s not my fault that Deb died.” Anger edged his voice, making it razor--sharp. “If you hadn’t said anything to her and minded your own goddamn business, she wouldn’t have broken up with me.”

“What?” Blood leaked out of the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away with a trembling hand and found myself staring at the horrifying smear of red.

Too familiar.

“When you asked her about the bruises! And then that f*cking Sunday. You had to get involved.” He started toward me. “You just had to be standing there and get hurt. Like it was my f*cking fault. It wasn’t! It was yours!”

Fury snapped at the heels of the rising fear, and I did something I’d never done with Jeremy, no matter how bad it got.

I wasn’t a victim anymore. I would never be the victim again.

“So typical.” I spat the words out. “You hit someone and it’s always their fault. Never yours.”

“Oh, shut up, you stupid gimpy bitch.”

Planting my hands on the floor, I ignored the dizziness that assaulted me. “I guess your fists just slip and fall on -people’s faces?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

“Did Debbie deserve it?”

He cursed. “Don’t you dare talk about her. You don’t know shit.”

I lurched to my feet and staggered back, bumping into the bed. Lifting my head, I saw Erik advance through a haze of tears. I spun, reaching for the closest weapon. I grabbed the bedside lamp, ripping it from its plug, more than prepared to knock him upside the head so hard that it kicked him into the next dorm.

He swung at me, and I jumped back. The momentary loss of balance gave him a second to gain the upper hand. He snatched the lamp from my hand and tossed it across the room. It hit my clothes and then thudded off the wall. My heart stopped, and then I whirled toward the door.

Pain exploded along the back of my head, doubling me over. The walls tilted again, and I blinked to clear my vision, but it felt like it took hours to reopen my eyes. The next thing I knew I was on the floor, on my back in between the beds, staring dumbly at the ceiling.

Erik was pacing, his sneakers crunching over my hair. How had my hair come loose? My entire body throbbed like I was giant bruise. I drew in a deep breath, and it hurt my ribs and back.

“You’re awake.” He stood over me, sneering. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

My head was full of cobwebs. I must’ve fallen and passed out, which meant I probably had a concussion.

And concussions were bad news, right?

Feeling like I’d been abruptly woken up, I slowly rose onto my elbows. For a second, I felt like I was swimming through mud.

“I wasted so much time. I should’ve . . .” He stopped, pressing his palms against his temples and then he started pacing again. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

What was he talking about? Forcing myself into a sitting position, I leaned against the bed, winded. He didn’t mean to do what?

“It just . . . it just happened. I came over to talk to her, to prove to her that she made a mistake and that we needed to get back together, but she told me to leave.” His hands dropped to his sides, closing into sizable fists.

I winced as I pushed back against the bed, trying to gather my spinning thoughts.

“She wouldn’t listen to me. All she needed to do was listen to me!” His voice rose and then dropped. “She made me mad and I—-and I pushed her. It was an accident.”

Erik dropped down suddenly and gripped my chin. I cried out as his fingers dug into my chin, bruising. “It was an accident! She fell backward, and I don’t even understand how it happened. Her neck hit the corner of the bed and I heard the snap. Oh God . . .” He pushed away from me, wrenching my head to the side as he stood. Clutching his hair, he backed up. “Her neck just snapped.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against the images pouring in.

“I knew no one would believe it was an accident. They’d blame me when it wasn’t my fault! Debbie just—-” He cut himself off as he sat on the edge of her bed. “She just wouldn’t listen.”

Horror seized me. I’d suspected the truth all along, but to hear him put it out there sickened and shocked me. “You killed her.” My jaw and mouth ached—-it hurt to talk.

“It was an accident.” He stood again, walking the length of the small room. “It wouldn’t have happened if you had just kept your mouth shut. It’s your fault.”

Erik had deep psychological problems. That much was official.

As he made another pass around the room, my head began to clear, but a low--level pounding ache throbbed along the back of my head. I turned, wincing as pain shot down my neck. My face felt swollen and my ribs bruised, but I knew the longer I was in here with him, the worse these injuries would get, if not—-I cut off that line of thought. No need to feed anxiety.

“This is on your conscience. It’s your fault. Debbie would still be here if you hadn’t said anything, if you hadn’t gotten in the way,” he ranted, hands clenching and unclenching, and I knew he wanted to put those hands on me, and not in a happy way. “You’ve ruined everything.”