Limerence: Chapter 23

Three seconds. That’s all it takes.

Adrian is pressed against me and then he’s not – he is pummeling Freddy into the marble floors.

“Fuck!” I shout.

Someone yells.

Someone screams.

Some of the swim team breaks through, looking unsure whether they should be helping or stopping their captain.

Three or four Lacrosse players descend on Adrian, and it takes at least two tries and their combined brute strength to peel him away from Freddy.

Adrian stumbles back, eyes wild, just as Dean Robins yells, “What’s going on here? Who’s fighting?”

And the heartbeat that it takes Dean Robins to push his way through the gathering crowd is all Adrian needs to collect himself – to position that meticulous human mask right back into place.

“It’s my fault, Dean,” Adrian says, hands held up in surrender as if his knuckles aren’t splattered with blood.

Freddy’s blood.

I cast a glance toward the Lacrosse player and cringe. His nose is gushing blood, his eyes swollen shut – the extent of damage Adrian was able to do in three seconds is baffling.

If they’d been alone, if Adrian had been given ten more seconds unbothered…

It makes my stomach lurch.

His Lacrosse buddies kneel by his side. I know better than to join them. In fact, the only thing I want to do right now is disappear into the walls while Adrian is distracted by Dean Robins and Freddy receives medical attention.

“Adrian,” Dean Robins puts as much disappointment into the name as I’ve ever heard. “Do you want to tell me what just happened?”

It’s Freddy who gives an answering groan, and Dean Robins turns swiftly. “Someone call Dr. Peterson. Right now.”

“He’s on vacation,” someone says.

“Then get the on-call nurse!” He barks. “These boys need –” His eyes flicker from an unmarred Adrian to a swollen, beaten Freddy. “This one needs medical attention!”

A few chaperones scuttle away.

Adrian hangs his head. “As I said, Dean, it’s my fault. Freddy and I were just joking around, and that sparkling cider –” He rubs at his forehead. “ – it’s been making me feel funny all night. I don’t even remember why I was so upset a second ago. Only that I was. I am so sorry.” His voice wobbles and his bloodshot eyes swim with regret.

It’s an Oscar-worthy performance.

Dean Robins flags down a waiter and takes a sip of champagne, only to promptly spit it back into the glass.

“This is not sparkling cider,” he seethes. “This is alcohol. Someone has replaced the non-alcoholic cider with champagne, and encouraged underage drinking here tonight.” He twists around, taking note of every half-empty champagne glass. “If you’ve been drinking from the trays going around tonight, you need to stop. Immediately. Anyone who drinks from this point on will be considered an intentional participant in underage and illegal alcohol use.”

There’s a clattering of glasses as students scramble to get rid of their champagne. I even double-check to make sure I’m not still holding my own glass.

Adrian rakes a bloody hand through his curls and stares at Freddy in horror. “Oh God. I didn’t mean to do this. I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I don’t know what came over me.”

Even from several feet away, I can see the exact moment Dean Robin’s disappointment shifts toward paternal concern. “How much of that champagne did you have, son?”

Adrian shakes his head. “I’m not sure. At least three glasses. Maybe four. I had no idea it was alcohol.”

My eyes narrow.

More like one glass – if that.

I swing my head around in search of anyone who might be seeing Adrian’s act for the farce it is, but nobody looks remotely suspicious – only as concerned as they are shocked. The way Adrian’s spinning it, I wouldn’t be surprised if they considered him to be just as much of a victim as Freddy.

Am I really the only one who sees it?

The true victim of tonight’s scuffle lets out another groan of pain and Dean Robins assures, “Hold on a second, Mr. Rook. We’ve got medical attention coming.”

Fortunately, this is the exact moment the on-call nurse comes barreling through the doors, a first-aid kit swinging in her hands. “Alright, alright. I’m here. Let me see the damage.”

The Lacrosse players situate Freddy into a seated position while the middle-aged nurse checks his pulse and prods at the bruises already blooming across his bronze skin.

When her brisk examination is over, she lets out a long sigh and addresses the Dean. “Well, he’s got a broken nose, and a nearly broken jaw. Nothing life-threatening as far as I can tell, but I’d still recommend an actual doctor take a look at him.”

Dean Robins mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse. “Call Dr. Williams and have him come as soon as he can.” He glances at the Lacrosse players still huddled around Freddy. “In the meantime, why don’t you boys help your friend to the infirmary?”

The boys nod, slinging Freddy’s arms over their shoulders and trailing after the nurse.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call for an ambulance?” Adrian pipes up, the picture of contrition. “Or the police? I don’t mind speaking with them, sir. What happened is my fault, and I feel awful. I’m more than willing to take responsibility for my actions.”

“No, no, no.” The Dean shakes his head. “I don’t see any reason to involve the police and deal with any bad press that might come from this.” The wrinkling of his brow suggests which one he’s more worried about. “Mr. Rook’s injuries aren’t critical, and I have no doubt that I can bring whoever drugged this event to justice on my own.” He punctuates the sentence with a stone-faced glare to the rest of the senior student body. “And if the perpetrator comes forward now, we can discuss leniency.”

Nobody looks particularly enthused to step up and take responsibility – and I’m guessing there’s not going to be a nice vintage sitting on his desk come Monday – so the Dean shifts his attention back to Adrian. “As for you, son, your willingness to take responsibility is admirable, but it’s clear your actions tonight weren’t your own. I expect you to apologize to Freddy once he’s feeling better, of course, but considering the circumstances…”

“Of course, sir.”

Adrian wrings his blood-coated knuckles together, and Dean Robins seems to notice, his frown deepening. “Do you need medical attention, son?”

“No, sir. I just need to clean up.”

“Are you sure?”

A grin peaks through the turmoil raging on Adrian’s face. “If I start feeling poorly, sir, Poppy can always escort me to the nurse.”

I stiffen. I can do what now?

But Dean Robins is already nodding. “Good. Use the bathroom in my office, will you? It’s stocked with a first-aid kit.”

“Sure.” Adrian looks at me expectantly. Waiting.

I don’t move.

My now-ruined travel roll is still lying on the marble with whatever’s left of Freddy’s blood seeping into the leather.

“Poppy?” Adrian calls.

My jaw ticks. “Coming.”

Neither one of us says a word on the empty commute to the Dean’s office. I’m too busy stewing in the chaos of what’s just happened. Underneath my calm exterior, I’m a jittery mess of pent-up anger and horror – I’m just waiting till we’re truly alone before I unload.

And once we reach the Dean’s vacant office, flip the light switch on in his attached bathroom, and shut the door, I whirl on him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That was –”

Adrian’s lips knock into mine, swallowing my words, my anger, my surprise. There’s no gentle build-up – no gentleness at all – as he shoves me against the bathroom counter and his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

I’m responding before I’ve made the conscious choice to, my hands winding into his gel-slicked hair and my tongue tangling with his. He’s unrelenting, determined to discover every crevice of my mouth.

I tug on his hair – hard – but he only groans low in his throat, the sound of it sending a pulse of heat through me.

Jesus Christ.

I know that I should push him away, but my cerebrum’s not in the driver’s seat right now. I’m pretty sure it’s left the car entirely.

But when I swipe my tongue over his bottom lip and prod for entry, he nips me – actually nips me – and I pull back long enough to say, “Adrian –”

“Shut up,” he growls against my mouth, swallowing any further protests.

It’s then that I realize what this is.

Not a moment sparked by lust or even curiosity.

This is a show of dominance.

Well, two can play at this game.

As he commands my mouth, I untangle my hands from his hair and run them across every inch of exposed skin I can find: his cheeks, his jaw, his neck.

I’ve never touched him this way. It’s always him touching me, but his skin is so soft and and firm, stretched over the expanse of his cutting jawline and Adam’s Apple.

But I want more. I want to touch all of him.

I’m fumbling with the buttons of his well-tailored dress shirt when his mouth latches onto my neck, and a startled, embarrassingly loud moan escapes me.

I pause. I didn’t realize I could sound like that – at least, not without trying – but I have zero time to revel in any kind of mortification as Adrian peppers kisses along my neck.

By the time I’ve torn through three buttons, he finds the sweet spot tucked into the nape of my neck and drags another licentious moan out of me.

It’s a bolt of electricity straight to my core.

And when he starts sucking, I nearly go slack in his arms, abandoning my mission to shed him of his shirt.

I had no idea it could feel this good.

A whine of protest builds in my throat when he suddenly pulls back to look at me.

Disheveled is not a word that I’d attach to Adrian Ellis in any other circumstance, but with his hair mussed in a million directions, his pupils blown wide with desire, and a sheen of pink coating his cheeks, I can’t think of one more fitting.

And I’m the one who made him this way.

The thought sparks more satisfaction that it probably should.

I’m not sure how long we stay like that, breathless and soaking in the aftermath of our kiss, but it’s long enough for me to forget my ire.

Desire has smothered everything else.

But then I turn and catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror, and realize that my delicate curls have fallen out, my lipstick is smeared, and there’s a gigantic hickey on my neck.

Nevermind. I remember why I’m angry.

“What the hell? You left a mark.” I’ll be lucky if there’s enough concealer in the world to hide it come Monday morning.

Adrian’s arms cage me against the counter, his chest pressed into my back. “Good,” he murmurs.

Every bit of fury I felt walking into this bathroom comes blazing back to life. “‘Good?’” I try situating my hair to cover the bruise. “No, not good.”

He brushes my hair out of the way and exposes the hickey. “Why not? You’re mine. I can mark you as I please.” Darkness flashes across his face. “After all, some people clearly need a visual reminder.”

And there it is – the crux of the issue, whose blood is still splattered all over Adrian’s knuckles.

I swing around to face him. “What you did tonight? That was fucked up.”

His eyes narrow. “Was it? Because I walked away for ten minutes, and Freddy Rook was fawning all over you. Buying you ugly, little trinkets like he has the right to buy you anything at all.” There’s a dangerous edge to his tone that suggests I’m treading a thin line, but I’m too pissed off to care.

“He wasn’t fawning all over me,” I retort. “He made a sweet gesture, and if anything, he was very understanding about the way things went down in College Preparations. As for the stuff he said while we were walking away…” I suck in a breath. “Well, yes, that was probably to piss you off, but my point stands.”

An amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You really are a sweet, naïve thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m not naïve.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs. “You think he bought you that gift to be nice? To be sweet?”

Adrian’s presence bears down on me, but I refuse to cow under the weight of it. “Maybe.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. To be nice. Without any hope that doing so might get him one step closer to a dance or a date or a hand up your skirt?”

My mouth clamps shut. Freddy was asking me to dance when Adrian interrupted but…

“Stop it.” I try shoving him backwards, but he doesn’t budge an inch. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

He cocks his head to the side. “And what is that?”

“You’re trying to manipulate me,” I grind out. “Trying to make everyone else seem like the bad guy so you can look like the lesser of two evils. It’s not working. Whatever Freddy’s intentions might’ve been doesn’t erase what you did.”

My heart drops into my stomach when his smile turns downright predatory. “Well, I never said I wasn’t a bad guy.” He cups my cheek gently. “But right now, I’m your bad guy.”

“And if I tell you I don’t want a bad guy?” My throat tightens around the question.

His smile never wavers. “Then I’d tell you that you’re lying.”

I shake my head. “You don’t –”

“You could’ve said something, you know,” he interjects. “For all this righteous anger you seem to have, you could’ve said something. But you didn’t.”

“What?”

“When everyone was standing there,” he explains, “And the Dean was asking me questions, you could’ve said something. You could’ve jumped in any time and told them that I was lying, but you didn’t. You didn’t say a word. Why is that?”

I open my mouth.

And then I close it.

Because he’s right. I could’ve said something. I could’ve jumped to Freddy’s defense – or, at the very least, refuted Adrian’s lie about the alcohol.

“I was in shock. I just watched you break Freddy’s nose,” I stammer. “And you would’ve twisted my words, anyway.”

His perfectly white teeth glint under the light. “Maybe so. But you didn’t even try.”

I didn’t try.

Why didn’t I try?

I wasn’t the one lying on the floor with a heavily-bruised jaw.

“You know what I think?”

I swallow. “What?”

He leans down, his mouth skimming the shell of my ear. “I think you liked it.”

There’s nowhere for me to go, but I rear back anyway. “What? You could’ve killed him. No part of me liked that.”

He doesn’t even look remotely convinced by my denial. “Really?”

“Yes. Really,” I snap. “You may get off needless violence. I don’t.”

His dark eyes bore into mine. “Maybe not the violence on its own…but I think you like seeing how far I’ll go.” He brushes a stray hair out of my face. “How dirty I’m willing to get. For you.”

I’m suddenly hyper-aware of my heartbeat pulsing behind my eyes. “No, that’s not…” I shake my head. “You’re trying to project something onto me.”

His eyes are uncharacteristically soft, but his voice is as hard as steel. “You know I would’ve kept going if nobody was around to break the fight up, right? Maybe I would’ve killed him. Or just beat him within an inch of his life. And I would’ve done it for you.” His hand tightens almost painfully around my jaw, eyes flashing. “Just for you. For the sole crime of thinking he had a chance with you. Don’t tell me that kind of devotion doesn’t interest you.”

I have no explanation for the unbearable surge of heat that shoots through my lower belly at his words.

It’s too much. This is too much. I don’t like this. I can’t like this. What kind of person gets turned on by what happened tonight?

“You’re wrong,” is all I can manage, each word as strained as I feel in this moment.

“Am I?” His other hand glides under my dress and up the smooth skin of my thigh.

And dips right into my panties.

My breath catches.

Is he going to…

Two fingers skim my folds teasingly, but to my surprise, that’s as far as it goes. His hand slips out of my underwear as quickly as it slipped in – but this time, it’s coated in me.

I flush. I hadn’t expected him to check for evidence, but that’s exactly what this is: evidence that some part of me – maybe subconscious, maybe only physical – is attracted to this sort of dark, twisted toxicity.

He pops the fingers in his mouth with a shameless smile and then drawls, “Right. I’m projecting.”

I hate how even that sparks something in me.

This is so fucked up.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “This part of you…it only confirms what I realized earlier this week.”

That we’re perfect together, my brain supplies. I don’t need a reminder about the conversation we had following Adrian’s St. Benedict’s Proposal.

But this feels like the opposite of perfect, and the worst part is, the longer we stand here and talk, I can’t tell if he’s trying to twist me into something I’m not or just dredging up the dark, seedy parts of me that haven’t seen the light of day in years.

“You may still need some time to come to terms with that,” he continues, his voice sharpening. “But after tonight, you will stay away from Freddy Rook.”

I can’t tell if it’s rage, my heartbeat, or a combination of both ringing through my ears. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not going to speak with him. You’re not going to apologize. You’re not going to do anything but ignore him,” he says flatly.

The string that’s been holding my composure together since the fight finally snaps. “You’re insane. You’re actually –” I shake my head in disbelief. “A month ago, you wouldn’t have blinked an eye if I ended up dead, and now, you’re trying to steam-roll me into a relationship. You are the biggest control-freak I’ve ever met in my life.”

His eyes flash and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “You’re right, sweetheart. I am a control-freak. I’m an Ellis – it might as well be built into my DNA. I’ve got a stubborn streak a mile long and I never learned to share. What belongs to me –” He hooks a finger under my chin. “ – belongs to me. If you think I’m going to entertain someone else even thinking they might have a chance with you, then you must not have been paying very close attention tonight.”

It’s there again – that strike of heat to my core, something dark and depraved stirring to life when he reminds me how far he’s willing to go to make me his.

Now that Adrian’s pointed it out, I’m all the more aware that it’s there.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t smother it.

I square my shoulders. “I’m not going to let you take away my choices.”

“I have no intention to,” he responds, his voice pitched low and soft. “You can choose to keep Freddy around. You can even choose to pursue him romantically if you wish. I just don’t think you’ll like the outcome of those particular choices.”

My entire body goes cold. “You wouldn’t.”

He arcs an eyebrow, his meaning clear: yes, he very much would. “See? We both have choices, sweetheart, and yours is this: you can choose to observe the rest of Freddy’s peaceful senior from a distance or…” His mouth breaks into a feral smile that says it all.

Or Freddy might take a tumble out of his bedroom window. Or down the stairs. Or drown in the pool. Or have any number of accidents that’d earn him a memorial page in the yearbook – but ultimately never be linked back to Adrian.

“You’re a monster,” I whisper.

He just blinks at me – unfazed. “You knew that already,” he says quietly, and strokes the mark he left on my neck. “But I’m a monster infatuated.”