Things I Wanted To Say: Chapter 21

WE WALK BACK to campus in silence, me fuming the entire way, Summer seemingly unaffected. I was mean to her just now. Cruel. Crueler than I’ve ever been, and she took everything I gave her. She seemed to enjoy it.

I definitely enjoyed it. Every twisted word and brutal touch. How I slammed into her without finesse, no foreplay, no nothing. My cock enveloped in all that tight, wet heat. She’d been ready for it. She wanted it.

So fucking bad. Just as bad as me.

All because I was jealous. No. It was more than that. The territorial feeling that rose inside of me at seeing Chad touch her had made me want to tear him apart. And what happened between them was nothing. His fingers on her fucking elbow didn’t mean shit.

Yet witnessing him put his hands on her made me see red. Like a bull, I wanted to charge. Run up on him and slug him right in his smug face. Chad can have whoever he wants, and he has no business even looking at her.

I told him as much once I calmed down, when we were outside. He laughed at me, the motherfucker, and said he didn’t give two shits about Savage. That infuriated me too.

My feelings for her confuse the shit out of me.

We come upon the library and Summer veers right, about to head for her dorm hall, when I grab her around the elbow, stopping her.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice low.

Jesus, why am I asking her that? Why do I fucking care?

I don’t.

Her smile is faint. “I’m fine.”

I pull her in closer, unable to resist. “Don’t tell anyone I took you out there.”

She frowns. “Who would I tell?”

“Sylvie.” It still bothers me that she’s friends with my sister. What is she doing? Trying to get closer to her, in order to get closer to me? It won’t work. And she better not be using Sylvie either. My sister is fragile. Sick. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with her, but our mom has been taking her to an endless list of specialists over the last few years, trying to figure it out. Sylvie treats it like one big joke, like she’s going to drop dead at any minute and she’s perfectly fine with it. But I know the truth.

She’s terrified.

“I don’t tell Sylvie anything about us,” Summer says. “She makes her own assumptions.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Your sister isn’t blind,” Summer hisses, stepping even closer to me. So close, I can smell her. Her own light fragrance mixed with the scent of her cunt. I breathe deep, savoring it, my dick hardening.

Jesus. My need for her is overwhelming, and I fucking hate it.

“Blind to us?”

“At the restaurant, it was fairly obvious, with your fuck-me stare aimed right at me,” Summer says, her voice hostile.

I can’t help but chuckle. “Fuck-me stare? Really.”

“It’s true. You eye fuck me every chance you get.” We remain silent for a moment, watching each other. “Like now.”

Narrowing my eyes, I release my hold on her, pushing her away. She nearly stumbles, righting herself at the last second, a demonic glare in her eyes. I want her to hate me. She should tell me to fuck off and leave her alone.

But that’ll only make me push her more. It’s a game we play.

A game we’re both destined to lose.

“Don’t talk to Sylvie about us,” I demand. “Don’t even mention my name to her.”

“She’s the one who always brings you up first,” Summer starts, but I shake my head once, silencing her with a look.

“Change the subject. I’m fucking serious, Savage. What happens between us, stays between us. Don’t involve anyone else.”

I don’t bother waiting for her reply. I turn and walk away, my steps hurried, as if I’m desperate to get away from her. I feel that way. Having her close is what it must feel like for an addict trying to kick the habit, yet a fresh pile of coke always appears before him. I want to inhale every bit of her every goddamn time I’m next to her.

It’s exhausting.

I make my way back to my suite, barging through the door and slamming it so hard I swear to fucking God the entire building rattles. I go to my desk and grab the journal, flipping it open to a random spot, near the back. I’m sick and tired of reading about her experiences with Daniel. Or the stepbrother. How mad her mom makes her. How no one understands. It’s teenage drivel at its finest, and I’m bored to fucking tears.

I want the meat of the story. All of her secrets. The darkest ones she has.

There’s a bunch of pages folded in the back, tucked within the pages. Big bold words are scrawled across the folded outward page.

DO NOT READ!!!!

Frowning, I stare at the words. How did I not notice this before? She’s so obvious. Almost as if she wants someone to find her secrets.

I flip the pages out to find them covered in her girlish writing, mostly in pink pen. It’s light, hard to decipher and I squint, flopping down in my chair and turning on the lamp so I can see better.

Yates came to my room last night. He snuck in after Mommy and Jonas went to bed. I locked the door to keep him out, but he got in anyway. I wasn’t asleep. Just pretending. I could feel him standing over my bed, hear his heavy breathing as he watched me. He did nothing at first, and it was so hard to stay still. I couldn’t breathe. I could tell he was touching himself, which is so gross. He was jacking off while he stood over me, and I had to lay there and listen to him the entire time. It was awful, but over in minutes. He came into his hand, and then he wiped his fingers on the edge of my comforter.

The moment he left my room, I flung the comforter off onto the floor, kicking at it with my feet. I lay there, humiliated, the scent of his cum filling the room, and…it kind of turned me on, which is so fucking gross.

I’m sick. Seriously. But it makes me feel powerful, knowing Yates wants me so bad he’ll sneak into my room and jerk off while he stares at me. He must think I’m beautiful. Special. Daniel said I was, but now he’s gone, and I think he said that just to get in my pants, though we never had actual sex. We messed around. He told me I was beautiful. Special.

I have no one now. Mother says I need to work on everything. My grades, my manners, my clothes, my makeup, my hair. All of it. I’m not good enough. Jonas is too busy working, or paying attention to my demanding mother.

And then there’s Yates. Poor, lost, weird Yates.

He wants me.

And I might let him have me.

I snap the journal shut and lift my head, breathing deep, vaguely disturbed. And nothing disturbs me. But knowing Yates was in such hot pursuit of Summer fills me with disgust.

With myself.

I treat her terribly.

Sounds like everyone else does too.