Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) (18 page)

My lungs had relaxed, but at his comment, they expanded. He hadn’t entirely answered my question, but that was a good thing, I reminded myself. This was sudden and weird. I didn’t want bad boys, and bad boys didn’t want me. I just wanted to feel safe. Dylan helped with that.

“Done?”

“I guess.” He returned his gaze to my face, his eyes pausing on my lips before meeting mine. “Are you?”

“I guess.”

His eyes relaxed. “Can you get me a pair of shorts?”

“Of course.”

I pushed unsteadily to my feet and stumbled into the hall and into his bedroom. It looked dark and comfortable. I eyed his bed, fearing sleep and wanting it at the same time. My sleepless nights were starting to catch up to me. I opened his dresser and sifted through his clothes until I came upon a pair of black athletic shorts. On a whim, I grabbed a pair of underwear as well. They matched his last pair, these tight black briefs that had hugged every single inch of his lower half.

When I returned, I set his clothes down on the counter and grabbed a towel out of the cubby. I slung it over my shoulder and then positioned myself over the tub, forbidding myself from even thinking about peeking below his belly button. “Put your arm around my shoulder.”

His arm settled around me, dampening me as he pushed up with is other. I closed my eyes when I saw the top of his pelvis bones and helped him balance on his left leg. He got out of the tub much the same way he got in. The struggle was lengthy, but once he was out he heaved a sigh of relief.

He leaned against the wall, eyes far away.

“Can I dry you off?” I wasn’t done helping him.

His only response was to grunt.

Taking the towel, I started with his chest. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I was at eye level with his abs and I wanted to dry those first but feared that was the wrong option. The towel shielded my hands as I drug it across his hard chest, over his nipples, and over his shoulders. I brought the towel up to his face and dried his eyes and lips, watching how full and smooth they looked. “Bend.” He gave me his head. I dried his hair for a long time, noticing how he had a cowlick in the middle. It made me smile. If he combed his hair, it probably would be more apparent, but since he left it to grow wild it was a secret within his mess. “Can you dry the rest?”

Another grunt.

I left him with the towel and moved to grab his boxers, strangely weak. My legs felt rubbery. I didn’t ask if he wanted help. I simply positioned his boxers by his feet and waited patiently for him to step into them. The entire time I kept my eyes downcast on his toes, his ankles, and the hair on his shins. I pulled his boxers up his thighs and then repeated the process until he was clothed.

“Can you get to the couch?” I gazed at him from under my lashes, using them to shield my eyes.

He looked down at me, face stone, eyes blue steel. And then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my cheek. I was so startled I didn’t move. When his lips left my cheek, he nuzzled it with his nose and then without a word he took off, leaving me in that bathroom.

I touched my cheek and inhaled, pulling air into my deprived body. After a few seconds, I forced myself into action. I drained the tub, picked up his dirty clothes, and dumped them in his room. On his dresser, I spotted his deodorant and cologne. There were four bottles. I smelled each one until the last one made me moan, it smelled so good. Like fruit and musk and the ocean, so … manly. I imagined his abs smelling this way and then closed my eyes, casting the thought from my mind. I gathered the contents in my arms and returned to the living room to find him on the couch, head back, eyes closed.

I stood before him and uncapped the deodorant. “Arms up.”

His eyes snapped open. He stared at the tube in my hand and then raised his eyebrow. Without replying, he lifted both arms. I dragged it over his armpits and through his hair. “You do know it’s my leg that’s injured. My arms work fine.”

I knew, but I felt that if I did it, he would have it right. If he did it, he’d do it the same way he’d been taking care of his wounds. “I know.” I scooped up his cologne and met his eyes in question. “Where?”

He grinned slowly. “Here.” He touched his neck. I sprayed it under his jaw. “Here.” I sprayed it below his other jaw. “I like it here too.” He touched his chest. I spritzed him there. “Anywhere else you think it should be?”

“I think it would smell good here.” I sprayed across his abs. The strong smell filled my nostrils, burning me and making me want to lean over and smell it on his skin. “You smell human again.” I smiled timidly at him.

He titled his head and rested it on the back of the couch, eyes regarding me intently. “Thank you, baby. Is there anything you need me to do for you?”

His question brought me up short. I placed the items on the coffee table within reach and then settled on the couch beside him. “I don’t think so.”

“There’s nothing you want? I mean you’re hurting right now, bad, and yet you’re going out of your way to help me. I want to do something for you.”

“Dylan.”

“Tell me,” he demanded. “What do you want?”

I wasn’t used to anyone asking me that. Mom made up my mind for me. Anything I wanted was either denied or kept secret. I hugged myself, thinking hard about what I wanted. “I want … to come over tomorrow too if that’s okay with you?” I met his eyes and swallowed hard at the intensity in them.

“Why?”

“Because I feel safe here. With you,” I added, because I didn’t think it was the house, I was sure it was Dylan. From the moment I woke up and heard his fear, smelled it, saw it, I knew my fear wasn’t afraid of existing. Around everyone else it was something to hide, to keep to myself and suffer. Around Dylan, I didn’t have to feel that way.

He reached over and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Why don’t we make a deal?”

“A deal?”

“Yes. I don’t need help from anyone else. But with you, it’s easier to accept it. Maybe because you have nothing to do with why I’m here, if that makes sense. Anyway, if you stop by to help me every day, then you can come over whenever you want. You can even make a key. Although I don’t get why that’s a tradeoff. What’s special about being here?” He waved a hand around us.

I wrapped myself around his arm and hugged his bicep. “You.”

He snorted. “There’s nothing special about me.”

He made me feel safe. What else did he want? I hugged his arm tighter, wanting to wrap myself around him again, but things were different. For one, he was shirtless. And two, I think I may have wanted to wrap myself around him because of that. “Even my own brother can’t make me feel better. Mom either. But you can. I think that’s special.”

His head came to rest on the top of mine. “You need to get out more.”

We remained in that position for so long I started to doze. I listened to his breathing and how when he took a breath my heart beat, and when he exhaled, my heart rested. Inhale, beat, exhale, rest. My peace became sleep, but it seemed even here Zane found me. The moment my brain shifted from reality to nightmare, I was back in that room. There wasn’t just one Zane this time. There were two. One held a bottle of beer, and the other blocked the door.

“You look thirsty,” he said, approaching me. In his other hand he had a belt. “Drink this.”
And then the other ran at me.

I snapped awake and scurried away, staring at Dylan as my reality settled in the remnants of my nightmare. Once it had, I bit back my sob. I eyed his bare chest, considered the repercussions for a second, and then abandoned my reservations.
Forget it.
I flung myself across the length of the couch and wrapped my arms around him. I clung so tightly to his body I felt each of his breaths rise and fall. His arms came around me a moment later.

“You fell asleep. If your snoring hadn’t been so adorable, I might have woken you up sooner.”

“I don’t snore.” Now that he was clean the smell of his skin and hair permeated my fearful fog. I shoved my nose against his neck and inhaled deeply. “Mmm.”

“All right,” he groaned and began pushing me away. “Off. You’re fine now.”

I settled on his lap, specifically his left thigh. My position reminded me of his wounds. The inflamed and infected flesh. I’d have to ease into this. “You’re not comfortable with touching are you?” I sniffed my tears away and gazed at him curiously. Whenever I hugged him, he stiffened up. “Is it me?”

He placed both hands on my thighs. “Maybe I’m not uncomfortable with touching. Maybe you’re overenthusiastic about it?”

Why were his hands on my thighs? Why couldn’t I ignore it? Why were his hands hot and my jeans suddenly thin? I’d picked them on purpose. They were my baggiest pair. They were supposed to protect me. “If I were more like Whitney would you be afraid to touch me?”

His eyes flashed. “Would you stop comparing yourself to Whitney? Or any of those other girls? You’re you, Hillary. You’re not them. You’re sweet, innocent, and giving. Why would you want to be like anyone else?”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. His argument felt more like a buffer. “Answer my question.”

“No,” he said, increasing his grip.

His thumbs skinned my inner thighs, making it hard to breathe.

“Is it my age?” I found myself sliding closer, wanting his thumbs … just lower.

“It’s a lot of things, Hillary. None of which we’re going into. Off. Please,” he begged, pushing me away.

I had half a mind to wrap my arms around him again and hold on until he wanted me there.
Why would you want to be there?
I didn’t have an answer to that particular question, so I let Dylan push me away.

One look at the window alerted me to the fact that the sun had set during my nap. I must’ve slept longer than I thought. Mom was probably worried, but my phone was in my purse in my car, and I wasn’t in the mood to face her yet. You live your whole life depending on someone, finding out their mistakes were the reason you existed, and it became hard to face them.

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” I mumbled sullenly. Even Dylan was using who I was against me.

“Get the remote. It’s in the cabinet.”

After I retrieved it, I handed it off and went in search of something to drink. My mouth was dry. But one look in his fridge left me coming up empty. “Don’t you have any food?” I settled on a pitcher of water and brought it out, searching for a glass.

“Food for what?”

“You have to eat, Dylan.” Was he not eating? It wasn’t surprising with his infected wounds. I didn’t have an appetite either, but Mom didn’t have me not eat. Dylan didn’t have anyone here to make sure he took care of himself. How could he make me feel safe when he wasn’t? I tried a different technique. “I’m kind of hungry.”

“We could order something.”

“What are you thinking?”

“What are
you
thinking?” His tone was amused.

I thought about it quickly, plucking the first food that popped into my head. “Subs?” I quietly began opening cupboards until I found what I was looking for.

“If that’s what you want.”

I fisted my find and walked it over along with the water to the couch. “Take these please.” I opened my hand to reveal four Tylenol. When he simply stared, expression unimpressed, my anger got the best of me. “I’ll put them in your mouth if I have to.”

“Oh?”

“Open your mouth.”

He smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Hill, but you’re not intimida—”

I took the opportunity to shove them into his open pompous lips. When he spluttered, I brought the water forward and spilled some into his mouth, giving him no other choice but to swallow.

He wiped his mouth off and glared. “What’s your problem?”

“I changed my mind. I want a new deal.”

“Tough.”

I spoke anyway. “When I woke up after the party I was lost. I still am. I was so afraid and hurt I didn’t know what to do with myself. But then I heard you screaming, and I know it’s sick, but it was like some part of my fear linked with yours. You get it, don’t you? How afraid I am, because I think you were that afraid once too. When I’m around you, I can breathe. I feel safe. But if you don’t take care of yourself I’m not going to feel safe.” My expression was strong and my stare intent. “You will not mess with my safety. It’s the only thing holding me together. So from now on I’ll come over to take care of
you
. It isn’t up for debate,” I informed him when he opened his mouth to argue. “That’s the way it is now.” I set the glass down on the table and made my way for the door. “I’ll be back with food. Anything else you want?”

He looked pissed. His eyes were dark, and rage simmered in them. But on the edge of those emotions, there was something that looked like appreciation and maybe even admiration.

“Whiskey.”

His request brought on a sudden sharp pain. Whiskey wasn’t beer, but it was close. And beer was forever crossed off my list. “I’m only eighteen.”

“You asked.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The moment I stepped outside and away from Dylan, my anxiety returned with the force of a punch. Everywhere I looked there was someone waiting to hurt me. My spine tingled as I got into my car, ignoring the party raging next door. My car had been in my parking spot when I left this morning with the keys in a coffee cup in the cup holder with
Bach
scrawled on it. I dug around in my purse for my phone.

“Hillary,” he exhaled. “Where are you?”

“Are you still at my place?”

“No. I’m out looking for you. Which, by the way, is a pain my ass. I’ve been calling you all day. Where were you?”

I was starting to learn that Bach’s anger really hid his fear. I contemplated my options before I established I’d ran out. “At Dylan’s.”

He was quiet for a beat. “What were you doing there?”

His accusing tone hurt just as much as the one Mom gave me. “I gave him my virginity.”

But he laughed. “Sure, Sweets. He can’t even scratch his ass. How’s he going to do that? Where are you?”

Before his example, he’d laughed for a different reason. I ignored the sting. So I wasn’t the only one who had to admit I wasn’t the kind of girl Dylan wanted.
Not that I wanted to be.
“Bach?” I made my tone sweet and imploring.