He doesn’t give me any response, or even acknowledge that I’m asking him anything. He’s vacant, unblinkingly staring at the wall opposite him.
The urge to go to him annoys me. Why the fuck would I do that?
I grab my ringing phone, silence Allie and, for fuck’s sake, a message from Mia pops up asking if Blaise is home.
Why is everyone awake at this fucking time in the morning?
I frown at my screen, then look at him again. “Mia is looking for you.”
Nothing. He’s not even asking why his girlfriend has my number. I don’t have hers saved, but from the millions of times Blaise has called me from it to either give me shit, ask me to pickhim up, or to get ahold of one of our parents, I recognize the number.
Why is he not speaking? Did I fuck him up that good?
“Rough night?” I ask him, and I feel like slapping myself.
Of course it was a rough night. I beat the shit out of him, then forced myself on him. Rough night is an understatement. Saying that, my body hurts too. If he really wanted to, he could have stopped me. There was an opening he could’ve whipped off my mask, but he chose pleasure from an unknown.
And I was hard from it – the thrill of chasing him, watching him, hitting and touching him. I was so hard that I was losing my vision. I nearly took it too far, wanting more, to go further, to fuck him up really good and to feel from it, but the look in his eyes when I wrapped my hand around his cock? It floored me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chewing my lip, I glance around my room to make sure I definitely packed away the mask and black hoodie – they’re in my bag in the closet.
I don’t have any bruises or cuts to my face to show that it was me, but what if he recognized my voice? My left eye was visible through the crack. Did he realize?
Maybe it was my cologne. Fuck. Does Blaise know I’m the unidentified masked man who’s been fucking with him? Does he know his stepbrother forced him to suck his dick, then stroked his cock until he came?
I swallow and sit on the edge of the bed, my knees bouncing, stopping when I lean my elbows on them. “Are you going to stay silent and stare at nothing, or are you going to tell me why you’re in my room?”
He’s only been in here twice since me and Mom moved in years ago. Once when he was drunk, and I had to lead him to his own room and hide the fact he was fucked up. The second time, he stormed in after an argument and tried to choke me out. Wefought for what felt like hours before his dad broke us apart and blamed it all on me. I was the bully, and he was the victim.
Every. Fucking. Time.
“Did you take something?” I ask, nerves catching in my throat.
“Just…” He sighs, closing his eyes. “Let me sit here.”
Why does the way he says those words stab me in the chest?
For the next ten minutes, we stay silent, my phone buzzing repeatedly from Allie – but this is more important. I hate Blaise. I really fucking hate him, but there’s something within me that also wants to protect him. Plus, I think he knows and he’s trying to process it. Maybe he’s readying himself to walk down for breakfast in a few hours and tell our parents I basically forced sexual acts on him. He knows I’ll get disowned and my schooling will be done. I’ll lose my spot on the team, and if I get kicked out, there’s a high chance my dad will try to swoop in to save the day.
Not that he will. We ran when Mom finally had enough, and he never tried finding me.
I was the son nobody wanted.
Mom has seta spread for breakfast like she does every weekend morning. If she’s not at work on the ward at our local hospital, she’s in the kitchen with her cookbooks and enjoying every second of it.
My stepdad stares at me from across the table. “Where were you last night?”
I raise a brow. “Samson’s, why?”
“We heard the front gates opening in the middle of the night.”
Dropping my gaze to my plate, I shrug. “Wasn’t me.”
The table shakes as his hand slams down on the surface. “Don’t lie, boy.”
“Gavin,” Mom scolds. “He said it wasn’t him.”
