You know what? Fuck that. If you don’t feel the need to come over every night, I also don’t need to see you every morning. In fact, don’t show me your fucking face today.
As if I want to see your fucking face.
Fucking great.
Wonderful.
Awesome.
Fantastic.
He left me on Read. Again. Nikolai never leaves me on Read.
I keep checking the exchange every half an hour like a junkie, but there’s nothing from him.
No stupid, entertaining story of the day. No memes. No dick pics that he loves to send at the most random times.
It’s late evening, around the hour when I’d usually sneak out of the house and go to him like a druggy in need of a hit, but I doubt he’s there today.
Besides, he doesn’t want to see my fucking face anyway.
Good grief.
My hand finds the back of my neck and I tug on the fine hairs until pain explodes all over my skin.
But it’s not enough.
It doesn’t hurt enough or provide enough relief. I’m neurotic, my brain ticking and my skin prickling at the lack of him.
I really went ahead and made myself addicted, didn’t I?
The impulse to destroy the painting in front of me tingles under my skin and I’m about to give in when my phone buzzes in my hand.
My heart lurches and I’m taken aback by the force of my reaction.
Right. He can’t stay away. After all, he’s the one who’s obsessed with me.
I’ll forgive him for acting like a thick cow…
My heart falls when I find out it’s a text from Annika. But it’s for a different reason than disappointment.
Anni
Hey, don’t be alarmed, okay? But there was a fire in the Heathens’ mansion and Creigh came to save me, but he got himself in trouble with the others. He’s okay, just unconscious. Can you and Remi come to pick him up?
The Heathens’ mansion is in full chaos—half of it is burned and almost unrecognizable. A madness of students, firefighters, and medics crowd the circular driveway, but Remi and I manage to carry an unconscious Creigh out and to the car.
Anni is with us every step of the way. Her face is covered in snot and smoke, and she’s wearing Creigh’s hoodie.
She seems distraught, her usual cheerful expression muted, and her eyes don’t leave Creigh, even after he’s in the back seat.
I lean against my car and pretend to watch the firefighters, the Heathens’ guards, and any individual who comes into my vicinity.
However, no matter how much I search, I can’t find a trace of Nikolai. The lump that I haven’t quite been able to swallow remains unmoving at the back of my throat, obstructing my breathing.
Maybe he’s not here. Maybe he’s in the penthouse.
But even I know that’s wishful thinking.
Pretending to be nonchalant, I face Anni. “Is everyone else okay?”
That sounded innocent enough.
“Jer got hurt.” She sniffles, tears gathering in her eyes.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Anni.” Remi rubs her shoulder.
I can’t even bring myself to comfort her as the doomsday feeling spreads in my brain like wildfire. He’s always with Jeremy, so what if…what if…
“If it weren’t for Nikolai and Creigh, I don’t know what would’ve happened to him,” Annika says with a sniffle.
“Nikolai helped?” I take an obscene amount of pride in how collected I sound.
“Yeah, he barged in with these smoke masks and stuff like a bull.” She smiles, but it soon drops. “I don’t like that he beat up Creigh, though.”
I release a breath. If he has the energy to hit someone, that means he’s fine. My gaze flits to Creigh, who’s probably unconscious because of that fucker.
Jesus.
After we say our goodbyes, I’m about to get in the car, when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I don’t know why I do it, but I look up at the balcony where I first saw the Heathens and Nikolai on that initiation night. It feels like forever ago.
One thing hasn’t changed, though. He’s still far away. It doesn’t matter how many times I touch him, how many times I kiss him. At the end of the day, we go back to our respective worlds.
And who made it that way, genius?
Nikolai’s hair is loose, haphazard strands framing his face and flying in the wind. Smudges of black cover his cheeks, his nose, and his naked chest.
He’s crossing his arms and watching me with narrowed eyes. I run my gaze over him and he seems okay.
Probably.
Nikolai slams both hands on the railing, fingers tightening around the metal, and leans forward as if he wants a better look at me. Even from this distance, I can almost feel his muscles tightening.
“Bran?”
I startle and turn my attention to Remi, who’s frowning.
“What are you looking at?”
Shit.
Fuck.
Was I too obvious?
“Nothing,” I say in my eternally calm tone. “Let’s get Creigh home.”
I’m thankful that Remi follows without a word. When I steal another look at Nikolai, his expression is murderous as he slips back inside.
Remi talks all the way home about how inhumane the Heathens are for hurting his ‘spawn’ and I’m thankful that he fills the silence. But nothing could dull the tension in my shoulders.
We manage to carry Creighton to his room and he soon wakes up and tells us he’s okay. Remi refuses to leave, but once I make sure my cousin is fine, I slip back to my room and pace the length of it as I fetch my phone.
Me
Are you okay?
Nikolai
You ask as if you care.
Don’t be like this. I’m asking if you’re okay. Can you just answer the question?
You could’ve asked in person, but that would kill you, right?
I close my eyes and pull at the hairs at the back of my neck.
Nikolai
If I say I’m not okay, will you come to the penthouse?
Me
If you want me to, yeah.
Then I’m not okay.
On my way.
I’ll be there in an hour or so. I have some shit to do here first.
Should you be doing anything if you’re not okay?
Love it when you worry about me, baby. See you.
I want to tell him I’m not worried, but even I don’t want to send that lie.
The drive to the penthouse is only fifteen minutes. I wait on the sofa as usual and turn on the telly, then settle on one of the late-night reruns of Agatha Christie’s adaptations.
Unable to stay still, I stand up to fetch a bottle of beer from the fridge. He started stocking it up and ordering groceries that he knows nothing about. I told him to stop after the first time and began to buy my own groceries. I usually make him something before I leave. Breakfast or dinner, depending on how late it is.
I guess a part of me is trying to make up for how I leave every night when he doesn’t seem like he wants me to.
He doesn’t say that out loud, but I can feel the crushing disappointment in his voice whenever he asks, “You leaving?”
Every night. Every time. As if he expects the answer to change.