Page 30 of Left In The Dark

Nodding slowly, he nibbles on his bottom lip. “Can I touch you more now?”

I suck my teeth, sliding my hands to his neck. “Not today. Go get washed up so I can take you to your car. Your clothes should be ready and I’ll leave them outside the bathroom door for you.”

I step back and he slouches forward, gripping the counter, opening his mouth before closing it. Minutes later he’s walking to the bathroom, and I’m cleaning the kitchen. I wipe the counters and table, and wait on the couch until he’s ready to head out. Seeing him back in his own shirt leaves me with a sick feeling and I can’t shake it. Mine was so big on him, swallowing his figure, but it was one he’d shamed me for wearing before.

“Where’d you pick that up from? A yard sale?” I remember him saying, two months into our senior year. “Is it a hand‑me‑down from your hillbilly cousins? I’d never be caught in something so cheap and hideous.”

Never say fucking never. Did he not realize he was wearing it today? I’m helping him learn that life lesson the hard way. He made me feel like nothing in it, and I did the same to him. I need him in the same shirt again, soaked in his tears and arousal, covered in the cum he misses with his mouth, and sticking to him with his body’s sweat after I make him crawl all over the house for me.

“All done?” I slip on my shoes, pocketing my keys.

“Yeah.” His gaze drifts all over the living room and he tugs on his shirt. Does he not like being back in it either? Does he need to take more of me home with him? Does he need to feel something that once came in contact with my body caressing his skin as he gets himself off in his bed?

So much has changed, while staying the same. We remain from opposite worlds and crowds, but before, he used to be in such a hurry to get far away from me after leaving me battered. Now, years later, he can’t stay away from me. I can be as degrading as I want and he keeps coming back for more. I never wanted what he gave me, but he’s doing everything he can to earn whatever he can get from me. Good or bad. I mix it together because I want him to be more tortured when he can’t get it than when he does.

He beats me to the car, checking his phone as soon as he’s buckled into his seat. With a heavy sigh, he slams his phone on his leg with the screen upside down.

“Dad still being a prick?” I eye him from the side, turning over the engine.

“Yup.” His head hits the back of the seat and a rushed breath flies out of him. “It’ll blow over soon enough, though.” He doesn’t sound very convincing.

Gripping the wheel, I lay my foot on the gas and back up into the road. “Would he really kick you out?”

“I don’t know.” His face turns away from me, pressing to the seat as he looks out the window. “I don’t think my mom would let that happen, but then again, maybe she’s tired of me too.”

“That sounds rough. I’m the one who threw my dad out. My mom was on board right away. He used to influence her decisions too, but luckily that shit is over. Not that I can’t handle being on my own or anything, because I’d gladly leave tomorrow if told to.”

“No you wouldn’t,” he responds, still not meeting my eyes. “I’ve said the same thing before, but this is my home. Just like it’s yours. We’re too tethered to it.” His head rolls and his eyes pin me in place.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve never felt like this was my home.” I oddly do, though, now more than before. The house is slowly feeling like a place I can breathe in, and everything surrounding it is too. Because of my dad being gone and . . . and another reason I keep trying to shove down.

It’s not like that anyway. It’s scratching an itch before the irritation comes. Feels good to be ahead. But I can honestly say nothing is keeping me here but the well-being of my mom. Fuck everything else. All I’m doing with him is trying to “survive,” as he said before, while trying not to drown as I’m doing it.

The rest of the drive is quiet, and he’s the first to break the silence as I pull up beside his car. “Thanks for the ride and for letting me crash. The laundry and breakfast too,” he quickly adds, hand resting on the door.

“Anything else?”

His lips twitch. “Thank you for letting . . . for letting me be of use to you.”

Smirking, my fingers latch onto his arm as he’s flinging the door open. “You’re welcome, but I think you can do better next time.”

Yanking his arm away, he steps out onto the concrete. He pauses between the car and the door. I’m losing him. So it turns out I have to keep giving a little before taking a lot. He wants to feel a little important. I can do that.

“Blake.”

He takes a step forward, looking back. “Yeah?”

“Hi.”

His eyes spark with something, lips threatening to tilt. “Hiii . . .”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

He gives me a noncommittal nod. “Yeah. Later.” The door shuts behind him and I wait until he’s inside his car before driving off. Blake Mitchell may have ruled high school, but soon, I’ll rule him.

Eight

Logan