There. I said it.
I haven’t seen Ian in several days, and it’s pissing me off. Actually, the only thing pissing me off more than his not being here is him deciding that he’s going to act like he’s my keeper. He’s not, and he’s not going to be as long as he’s hiding from me. I’ll play his crazy little game as long as he shows up, but he’s not showing up, so screw it. I don’t want to irritate him, but I’m way too frustrated to bite my tongue right now.
I miss him and I thought—just maybe—we could have had something. But he doesn’t want from me what I want from him. He told me I was incapable of making my own choices, and I thought that meant more than daily text messages and acting like my human day planner.
THE RULES, MELINDA.
God, he’s annoying. My stomach flips. I’m grinning like a silly fool. I’m hopeless.
BITE ME, I text back. I can’t help but giggle. Ian’s not a man to be toyed with, but all that nonsense doesn’t stop me from baiting him the way he’s baiting me. Maybe I’ll suddenly remember the rules if he takes me for a ride on his Harley. Until then, I seem to be experiencing a random bout of memory loss.
YUM. WHERE?
I stare at my phone blankly. What does he . . . oh, hell. I’m not stupid. I know damn well what he means. My cheeks heat at the thought. Where is such a loaded question. I fumble with my phone until I settle on a response and start typing it out. No sooner than I have it ready to send do I decide against it and delete the entire thing. I can’t say that. I shake my head at myself. If I had actually told Ian to bite my ass, he’d probably be angry with me. I don’t mind annoying him, but I don’t want him angry. I’ve seen Ian angry, and I don’t like it. Maybe he’s trying to get over what I asked him do? He was so mad after, maybe because I wasn’t upset about what I saw. If anything, it gave me hope and a new mission.
DON’T PLAY WITH ME, M. THE RULES EXIST FOR A REASON. GO RUN!
I clench my jaw shut to suppress a scream. He takes all the fun out of being difficult.
ALREADY RAN, BOSS, I say. I stare at the screen for a long moment and then toss the phone on my nightstand. He never lets me have the upper hand, like ever. Feeling defeated, I give up on him for the night. Just because he’s getting on my nerves doesn’t mean I have to spend the evening sitting and sulking. I don’t want to be that woman whose life is dictated by her relationships. I always hated those girls growing up. When they had a new boyfriend or something good happened, they were in insufferably cheery moods. But if something bad happened or they broke up, they would spend at least a week moping and forcing everyone around them to be just as miserable as they were. Those are the girls Holly and I used to mock for being so needy. I refuse to be one of those girls, even though I know I’m one pathetic sigh away from being one of them. I love how Ian makes me feel, but I really hate how needy I become when he’s not around. It can’t be healthy.
I throw myself onto my bed and shove my face in my pillow. I know what I need to do, but I’m scared. I don’t want to try only to find out I’m not ready. It’s been five months. If I’m not ready now, when will I ever be? In the back of my head, I fear that I already have the answer—that I won’t ever be ready. But that’s not acceptable. It’s just not. Maybe I won’t ever be totally healed or normal, but I have to believe that I can have some things back. Those assholes don’t get to take everything from me. They just don’t. I didn’t feel much when I watched Ian, not sexually anyway. A little tingle, maybe a bit of excitement, but that was it. Emotionally, I felt so much. Thankful to Kaz for doing as I’d asked. Thankful to Ian for playing along. Maybe I should have been jealous because I was watching the man I want with another woman, but I wasn’t. I just kept thinking how lucky she was to be able to be with him. Those thoughts verged on a tinge of sadness when I started to think that I might never heal enough to be with him in that way.
Summoning the courage I’ve been faking for weeks now, I crawl off my bed and go to my bedroom door and lock it. The absolute last thing I need is for either my mom or dad to walk in while I’m trying to reclaim a tiny bit of normalcy. In my closet, in an old shoe box that’s hidden in an old suitcase I haven’t used in years, is the bag I’m looking for. I pull it out and stare at it wearily. It’s really just a few pieces of plastic and metal with a silicone shell. The damn thing isn’t demonic, and it’s not going to hurt me. I know that, but its purpose terrifies me half to death.