Left Drowning(31)

“I … I should go.” He pauses and slips his fingers into my hair, cradling the back of my head as he kisses me again quickly. “I need to go.”

“Wait, what?” I am so lost now. “No. No, you don’t have to go.”

“Yeah. I do,” he says gently. “I want you too much.”

This I understand because I want him so completely right now that it terrifies me. “So stay.”

It seems to take forever for him to answer, and his hands are still playing with my hair, his lips still darting against mine every few seconds. “I can’t.” He steps back and takes my hand to move me out of the way of the door. “I’d give anything to stay, but I can’t. You’re stunning, Blythe.” He gives me an almost-sad smile. “But I just can’t stay. It’s too much.”

And before I can figure out what the f*ck that means, he is gone.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Judging the Distance


I adjust the pillow behind my back and look at Eric, who is sitting on the extra bed in my room. “How long have we been at this studying nonsense?”

He yawns and rubs his head, smoothing down the buzz cut that is just starting to grow out. His head is fuzzy and soft, which I know because I’ve developed a fondness for rubbing it as though it’s some sort of genie lamp. Every time that I do this, he yells out, “Three wishes!” I always respond with something like, “Triple D breast implants, a basket of mini alpacas, and a spray can of whipped cream!”

This exchange is less traumatizing for both of us than what I should answer: I wish for parents who are alive, for a brother who doesn’t hate me, and for Chris to rip off my clothes and ravish me on a regular basis.

So, yeah. I go for the amusing wishes instead.

“So,” Eric says, grimacing. “Do you think we’re ready for this test? I hate essay exams.”

“Multiple choice would be worse. I never can pick just one answer. I always want to write in the margin, ‘I pick B, but depending on the approach you use to think about the character, D can be correct, too. ‘ You know?”

“Exactly!”

I smile at him. We have become regular study partners for the class we share, and every Saturday for the past month we have met up in my room or the student union in an attempt to stay on top of its demanding assignments. He is warm and easy to hang out with, and fortunately does not look so much like Chris that I can’t bear to be around him. But anytime that I see his last name written on anything, my stomach knots up.

The truth is, I have no idea where I stand with Christopher Shepherd. The last time I was alone with him was the night he bolted from my room.

I guess it isn’t that surprising. After our first encounter in his room, which was just kissing and minor groping, Chris made himself pretty scarce. Once he’d finger f*cked-me up against the door of my room, he became almost invisible.

Christ, if I’d f*cked him, he probably would’ve just vaporized.

Although it seems like he has.

The only guy I do see all the time, besides Eric, is Sabin. He is constantly texting me to check in and hounding me to go to parties with him, despite the fact that I almost always turn him down. Instead, we meet for coffee at least twice a week, and I listen as he rambles on about girls (lots and lots of girls), and acting, and spouts general silliness. I adore him.

I’m also seeing lots of Estelle. She recently coaxed me into a pedicure so extreme that I was scared my soles might bleed when I went running. She’d also dragged me to a salon to have my unmanageable hair cut and highlighted. Although I initially resisted her attack makeover, I admit that I feel better about how I look now. My hair now has bright blond streaks running through it, and the curls fall more softly thanks to the good cut. I am starting to look like my former self.

I stare at Eric.

“Why are you smiling at me?” he asks, smiling back at me.

I shrug and then look off to the side. It is stupid.

“What is it?” he prods softly.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

But my inner voice is loud. You have friends. You have friends again.

The door to my room flies open, slamming into the doorstop. Estelle steps inside, her knee-high boots tracking snow and water onto the tattered wood floor. “What a stupid f*cking bitch! My roommate can just go to hell and f*ck the devil for all I care.” She storms across the room and sits down in the desk chair. Her hair is damp and glistening, and despite her diatribe, she looks angelic.

“I see it’s snowing out,” Eric says calmly.

“Yes. It is.” Estelle crosses her legs and removes the cashmere scarf from around her neck. She is fuming.

“Damn it,” I say. “I wanted to run later. I hadn’t even noticed the snow.” I lean forward and glare out the window at the wet snow that is falling. The streets have just been fully cleared from the last snowfall yesterday, and now this. The indoor track is fine, and it’s probably safer when I run during the dark early morning hours, but I much prefer running outdoors. The track is smooth and predictable, but I do not like running in circles. Plus, there are other people there. I prefer solitary running, and when I’m at the college gym, there are other students around to see my slow, ungainly style. My new, expensive sneakers, however, will probably last longer without being subjected to the wet, snowy streets.