When he loosens up enough, I push him away, storming off to the dorm. I burst into my room and grab my shower caddy, marching off to the showers. Going into a stall, I rip off my clothes and turn the water to the hottest setting, steam already looming.
I step under the hot spray, letting the scalding-hot water practically burn my skin, hoping the memories will burn with it. I let the water spray onto my cuts, savoring the sting, wanting to feel something other than the sickening acid in my stomach and the wrenching pain in my chest.
I watch the smallest amount of blood tint the water, the red liquid swirling down the drain with everything else in my life.
Visit this link to discover what Olivia is feeling right now.
Thirty-three
Fight
I stay in the shower long after the water turns cold. Until not only my brain but my body is numb too.
When I finally find the energy, I turn off the water and dry off, slip on some new clothes, and pad back down the hall to my room. Once inside, I lean back against the door and slide down the wood, sitting on the floor and bringing my knees up to my chest.
I examine my busted-up knuckles, the cuts starting to scab over after the brutal clashing against Rat Boy’s face, the brick wall, and another round of punches thrown at the tiled wall of the shower.
My eyes drift up my arms to the scars on my forearms, the burns still haunting me.
Anger bubbles up inside me again and I slam my fists down on the floor.
I hate the power these stupid scars still hold over me, no matter how much I pretend they don’t. I hate the man who put them there. I hate my mother for being such a shitty parent. I hate my entire childhood. I hate being such a fuckup. I hate everything and everyone. Myself included.
Not since I was a child have I felt so confused, so lost, so broken.
All my life, people have come and gone. I got so used to it, so used to only depending on myself. No one ever cared for me—except for maybe Lexi, but I lost her too—and I learned to live with that. Learned to cope. Learned to not need anyone. To want anyone. To be alone.
But, god, do I need Olivia.
I’ve never cared about anyone or anything before. And I certainly never had anyone care for me, not like she has. Sure girls have been interested in me, thrown themselves at me, but they only cared about one thing. Sex. Or they saw—fantasized about—me as some project. Something they could fix to have potential and be a version of something only they could love. Something that could love them back.
With Olivia, I wasn’t a challenge or a problem to be repaired. I never felt like she was trying to fix me, even though I’m beyond broken. She cared for me despite my flaws and always looked at me as if she understood. With her, I want to be better, even though I know I’ll never measure up to be someone she deserves.
But I love her.
I’ve never loved anyone before, and it scares the absolute shit out of me. No one has ever wormed their way into my heart like she has. And she didn’t even try.
From the moment I set eyes on her I knew she was special. I was hooked the second those honey-colored eyes met mine and she gave me a smile. Then I found out how smart, sweet, funny, caring—how perfect—she is.
I feel like Olivia McCausland was made for me. That she walked into my life to steal my heart, only to break it. But maybe I deserve it.
Because I don’t deserve her.
Olivia and I are total opposites. She’s the sweet girl next door with the perfect life and family, while I’m the angry, messed-up son of a bitch with mommy issues who couldn’t keep it in his pants. But somehow we’re like magnets, two polar opposites attracted to each other by force, like it or not.
I sit on the floor for hours, staring up at the popcorn ceiling until the sun starts to set, lost in my own dark, self-loathing, and pitiful thoughts.
Finally, I manage to get up to get some proper blood flow back to my body, my limbs stiff and my ass sore from sitting on the floor for so long. I scrub a hand over my face, moving down to my chest, rubbing there too. Trying to ease the pain. But the thought of losing her crashes into my mind again, making me restless.
I pace around my room, every second ticking by, making me jittery, making me long for her even more. Picking up my phone, I feel a pang of hurt in my chest when I look at the screen to find no new messages and her face as my wallpaper, smiling back at me.
Fuck this.
Determination sparks inside me, and I realize my pity party is over. If I want her, I have to fight for her.
Slipping on my jacket and shoes, I snatch the keys to my bike lying on my desk and head out to the parking lot. Putting on my helmet, I swing my leg over the motorcycle and rev the engine, then race onto the street.
The cold wind slaps my face and bites into my bare hands, but I ignore it, too fixated on where I’m going and what I’m about to do to care.
