Page 21 of Knox's Boy

One ring. Two rings. Maybe he wouldn't answer. Maybe I'd get voicemail and could leave a polite, restrained message that didn't betray the chaos inside me. Or I'd just hang up before the third ring.

"Florian?"

His voice. That low, calm rumble that had whispered "good boy" against my ear. That voice that had told me I was safe, that I was taken care of. I'd forgotten how it affected me, like a physical touch sliding down my spine.

And something inside me snapped.

"Why did you have to be so fucking nice to me?" The words exploded out of me, raw and jagged. "Why did you make me feel safe and then just disappear? A whole week of nothing! You can't just… you can't just treat someone like they matter and then…"

I gulped air, my throat constricting. I'd meant to be cool. Casual. But instead, I was coming undone, unraveling.

"I keep thinking about that night. About the pasta and the wine and the pool. About how you put me to bed instead of kicking me out when I was a complete disaster. About how you gave me the money anyway, even though I didn't... even though we didn't..."

My voice was rising. People walking by were staring, but I couldn't stop. A week of sleepless nights and the memory of his hands on my skin had hollowed me out, leaving nothing but this desperate need to understand.

"You called me 'little boy’ and made me feel like I belonged to someone. Like I mattered to someone. And then you just… what? Got bored? Found someone newer? Someone who doesn'tfall apart on your expensive couch? I was just another whore, right?"

I was crying now, hot tears tracking down my cheeks, and I hated myself for it. Hated how weak I was. Hated how much I needed something, someone, to anchor me in this world.

"I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't stop thinking about you and your stupid beautiful house and how for one night I didn't have to be scared."

My voice cracked on the last word, anger dissolving into sobs that ripped through my chest. There was silence on the other end of the line. Complete, terrifying silence. I had no idea if Knox was still there, if he'd hung up, if he was laughing at the pathetic kid who'd attached way too much meaning to what was, for him, probably just another night.

I tried to pull myself together, wiping my face with the sleeve of my hoodie, taking shuddering breaths that caught on lingering sobs.

Then, mortification washed over me in a wave so powerful it made me physically nauseous. What had I done? Why couldn't I keep my shit together for five fucking minutes? Knox had been nothing but kind to me, and I'd just verbally vomited all over him, accusing him of… what, exactly? Not being my boyfriend? Not rescuing me from my life?

"I'm sorry," I finally managed, my voice small and broken. "This was stupid. I shouldn't have... I won't ever again… I'm so sorry… You won't hear from me again!"

I hung up, fast. I dropped my head into my hands, fingers pulling at my hair hard enough to hurt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even if he had been thinking about calling me again, hedefinitely wouldn't now. Not after that unhinged emotional tornado.

Minutes ticked by. I sat there on the concrete, trying to gather the energy to get up, to move, to face the rest of my day with this new humiliation added to the pile. My phone felt like a bomb in my hand, evidence of my weakness, my neediness, my inability to handle even the simplest human interaction without falling apart.

Then it buzzed.

I almost dropped it in surprise. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely read the screen through my tear-blurred vision.

Knox: "I'm coming to pick you up."

Five words. No explanation. No response to my accusations.

I stared at the message, my mind unable to process what was happening. He was coming here? Now? After I'd just verbally assaulted him? My stomach lurched with a nauseating combination of terror and desperate relief. My phone quivered in my hand.

What would I say to him? How could I possibly face him after that outburst? What did he want from me? How did he know where I was?

And why, despite everything, despite my embarrassment, despite my fear, did those five simple words feel like salvation?

Chapter 11. Florian

I didn't actually believe Knox would come. Rich men say things they don't mean all the time; that's practically the definition of being rich. They can afford that.

But he texted me again: “Wait for me at Pavlov Hall’s parking lot.”

Then a sleek black Audi pulled up to the curb twenty minutes later, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. The window rolled down, revealing Knox's face, impassive and perfect, those dark eyes pinning me to the spot. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just looked at me and said, "Get in," in that voice that bypassed my brain and hooked directly into my spine.

I stood frozen for a moment, my backpack clutched to my chest. Students streamed around me, casting curious glances at the luxury car at the curb. Knox waited, not repeating himself, just watching me with that steady gaze. He knew I would come, like a little puppy comes to his owner.

My legs moved before my brain caught up, carrying me to the passenger side. The door opened with a soft click, revealing a leather interior. I slid in, my shabby jeans and hoodie looking even more pathetic against the pristine interior.