Twisted (10 page)

A little part of me briefly
wonders if Cole is sneaking around behind my back, cheating on me in one of the
bedrooms upstairs. But then I shove that thought aside. Cole's pretty
territorial when it comes to me. As soon as we enter a party, he makes it clear
I am with him and off limits. Very rarely do guys approach me anymore. And
occasionally when they do, Cole literally appears out of nowhere to stake his
claim. I am guessing he has people watching me when he is not in the same room
with me.

I'm not quite sure what to
think of the power Cole has here in Citrus Heights. It didn't seem to matter
where we went, people were respectful towards him and they tended to steer
clear of his personal space. Cole is only eighteen but already he's a
successful dealer. He circuits the party scene, especially the high school and
college crowd while Ethan does most of his business in clubs and out of town.

As I sip my drink and watch
people dance, I momentarily wonder what Tate would do if he knew just how deep
I was with these kinds of people. Tate thought the worst thing I was doing was
underage drinking. He'd flip if he knew that Cole was a regular on the drug
scene and I was along for the thrill.

Did I feel guilty? A little
bit. But I'd rather be doing this than be stuck sitting home all by myself.

An unladylike snort escapes
into my cup as I take another drink. Here I am alone, anyway. I should have
just stayed home. As I gaze around the room, I debate what to do. I am very
tempted to simply walk out of the house and find my own way home just to spite
Cole, but all that would get me is a whole lot of nothing. Cole would more likely
stay here instead of coming after me.

I swear he's bipolar. He runs
hot and cold, rarely is there an in-between with him. There are evenings where
I have his full attention and then there are other evenings where it is a
struggle to keep it. I've began to wonder if he is losing interest. I still
refuse to try drugs and I still won't go any further than making-out with him.
I know he is irritated over the boundaries I've set and even though he tries
not to show it, I can see it in his eyes.

Cole's not exactly boyfriend
material, I know that. He doesn't give me gifts, he doesn't say pretty words,
and he doesn't go out of his way to take me on proper dates. Do I want of any
of that? I'm not sure. Cole is the first guy I've ever dated, so I've never
experienced any real dates or any kind of romancing. It didn't really matter
anyway. I'm with Cole and I am content right where I am. He gives me everything
I need. He's fun and he is my escape. Not to mention he is gorgeous and our
make-out sessions are really, really hot. He is my distraction from all the
badness that haunts me.

I'm jolted from my thoughts
as a guy bumps into me as he walks past; making me spill a bit of alcohol over
the rim of my glass. He glances back at me, apologizing briefly before
disappearing into the crowd.

I wipe my wet hand on my
shorts and sigh. I am done waiting for Cole. He likes to play games with me and
I always make sure he never fully gets his way. Cole loves power and control
and in a way we both enjoy the power struggles, but I am not going to allow him
to turn me into a puppet or plaything. I make it clear on a daily basis that I
don't want or like to be 'owned.'  Evidently I need to remind him that I'm
not like the past girls he's dated. There is something about Cole that seriously
draws me in but even I have limits and I think I've reached mine tonight.

Now my eyes scan the crowd
deliberately. Most people know I am off limits, but I have noticed that if
anyone does hit on me, it's because they've arrived at the party after Cole and
I made our grand entrance. I watch the main doorway of the room, waiting for a
new guy or group to arrive. It doesn't take long before I spy four guys
entering the room, beers in hand—looking for a good time. They look slightly
older than myself, so I assume they are college freshman. They are all pretty
cute but I focus on the blond. He kind of reminds me of Cole. It'd be a way to
drive my point home to Cole. I can replace him as easily as he can replace me.
Not that I want to—but a girl has to do what a girl has to do to keep her guy's
attention.

Without any reservations, I
begin to make my way over. Dating Cole has made me confidant when it comes to
guys. Now that I no longer have the reputation as 'town freak', I am learning
that guys find me quite attractive. Usually I don't care because I'm not an
'attention seeker'. I like minding my own business and doing my own thing. The
only attention I want is Cole's.

And I am determined to get it
tonight.

One of the
blond’s
friends catches sight of me walking over and he
nudges his friends, grinning widely at me as I walk up.

My attention shifts to the
tall blond with the warm blue eyes. I tilt my head slightly to the side, eyes
boldly flirtatious. “Dance?”

“Sure.” He immediately hands
off his beer to a friend.

I grab his hand and pull him
into the crowd. When we make a spot for ourselves, he instantly moves in close,
his hands settling on my hips. He's confident. I like that. We dance closely
together until someone moves past us, pauses, and then turns back—the guy
frowning at us. He puts a hand on the
blond’s
broad
shoulder and warns, “She's taken, man,” before he moves off.

This causes my dance partner
to look at me a bit quizzically.

“My boyfriend ditched me.”

“His loss is my gain,” he
retorts.

“I would definitely agree.”

He likes my response and
pulls me in close, his hips grinding next to mine as his hands settle on my
ass.
Okay. So maybe this is going a little too far
, I
think
uneasily
.
I'm trying to teach Cole a lesson, not break up with him. I'm
about to say something but then I see my dance partner's blue eyes shift over
my shoulder and focus on something.

“If you want to keep all your
fingers, you'll get them off my girlfriend's ass,
now
.”

A chill creeps up my spine at
the sound of Cole's pissed voice. Damn it. This is not how this is supposed to
go down. My dance partner seems to hesitate before he releases me. With great
reluctance, I turn around to face Cole and his expression is calm but his green
eyes are deadly. They are more than a little hostile as he grabs my upper arm
painfully before dragging me through the crowd. His grip has me wincing and I
find myself stumbling as I try to keep up with his long-legged stride. It's
crowded and I keep bumping into people, and finally I give up on apologizing as
my chest tightens with embarrassment.

“Cole, slow down!” I snap as
I trip over a beer bottle and almost fall down.

He ignores me and yanks my
arm harder, pulling me through the crowd and down a hall towards a set of stairs.
I'm aware of the fact that people are staring at us, watching Cole drag me
through the house like a damn rag doll. I'm thoroughly humiliated and I want to
flinch away from him but when we reach the stairs, I have to rush up them or
risk being physically dragged behind him.

Cole opens the first door on
the left and I catch sight of a couple having sex before he slams the door shut
and pulls me to the next door. This one must be empty because he all but shoves
me inside, causing me to stumble.

When I right myself and turn
to face him, I have mere seconds to brace for the
fist
that's coming at me before pain explodes across the corner of my mouth. I
manage to catch my footing, refusing to stumble from the blow. My tongue nips
out and I slowly taste the blood from my split lip. It's sick, but I can't help
but savor it because blood and pain has become my constant companion for years.

My eyes lift and I look at
Cole steadily, not moving. I've been through this type of violence too many
times to count. I am not going to wince, I'm not going to cry, and I damn well
am not going to cower before him.

Cole's eyes widen slightly as
he takes in my defiant stance before his gaze drops to the cut, where I'd
licked the blood off my lip. There is no doubt in my mind that he's noted my
reaction to the pain.

For a long minute he does
nothing, he just stands there as still as a statue. Suddenly he strides towards
me and I tense until he pulls me up against him, his lips crushing my own. Pain
flares where his lip presses hard against the cut but as his tongue slips into
my mouth, I can't help but respond. His arms are tight around my waist and I
lift my hands to move behind his neck.  There's something...erotic about
the pain mixed with pleasure.

I'm so twisted inside.

As we kiss, I lose myself to
the sensations as I press closely against him. I can feel his body is hard at
the curve of my hips and I know he's as turned on as I am. Damn...this is wrong
on so many levels. I am making-out with a guy who has just punched me. I should
be furious right now...not practically climbing up his body.

I don't understand what I am
doing.

I find enough will power to
drop my hands from his hair where I'd knotted them tightly and pull away. Much
to my surprise, he lets me go and I back away as I try to pull myself together.
My hand reaches up and I wipe the blood that has smeared along the side of my
mouth before I reluctantly look at him.

He's staring at me, breathing
hard. His gaze drop to my split lip and he winces. “Shit,” he says hoarsely as
he runs a hand through his hair, his eyes full of self-disgust. “I didn't mean
to,
Blayre
. I was just so fucking pissed to see that
guy with his hands on you. And you let him!” he accuses, a flicker of hurt
flashing in his eyes.

I purse my lips together and
fight back the apology that wants to form. I'll be damned if I apologize now,
not after he hit me. It had been wrong to bait him but now wasn't the time to
discuss it. Cole makes a move to step toward me and I put a hand up in warning.
“Don't,” I say sharply.

He freezes where he stands
and slowly nods, not saying anything.

My lip is still bleeding and
I lick it as I try to pull my thoughts together. What's bothering me the most
about this situation is that I am not more upset about
it.
I know I should be but...I'm not. The fact that he'd just hit me doesn't make
me want to break up with him. I should be yelling at him, telling him I never
want to see him again, but that isn't what's running through my mind. Sadly,
violence has been a part of my life for years so this isn't anything new. The
only thing I can think of is that I am so incredibly messed up inside. Do I
even really know who I am anymore?

“
Blayre
...”

“What?” I finally ask
quietly.

He meets my gaze and his eyes
hold a hint of remorse in them. “I'm fucked up. I'm a messed up bastard. I
won't tell you to run, but if you knew what was good for you...you would,” he
says in a hollow voice.

His admission has something
inside me tightening painfully. I've always known that there isn't something
quite right with him. It's in the way he needs to have control, or the way he
looks at me sometimes, like he owns me. The messed up parts of me recognizes
that in him and it makes me feel less alone in some crazy weird way.

I don't want to lose him.
It's pathetic, but I don't. He's the one constant in my life right now. But I
am also walking a fine line here. To just brush this incident aside would give
him more power over me. Instead, I sigh and rub my temple wearily. “Obviously we're
both...messed up. Look, I need to go home. I need to figure out how I am going
to hide this from my brother,” I say, gingerly touching the corner of my lip
where it's still bleeding.

“May I?” Cole asks lightly.

The fact that he's asking to
touch me, tells me just how bad he feels. I nod, and he walks over to me, his
hand reaching out as he gently brushes some blood off my chin. “I'm sorry,
Blayre
. I really am.”

“Take me home?”

“Yeah.”

As we leave the party, I let
my hair fall in my face, trying to hide my swollen and split lip. The ride back
home is far from enjoyable and as Cole pulls the motorcycle up in the driveway,
I wonder what time it is. The lights are on in the house and I can only pray
that Tate is still gone and I can sneak up to my room without Noah seeing me. I
can't deal with anyone else tonight.

“What time is it?” I ask as I
climb off the motorcycle once he cuts the engine.

Cole glances at his watch.
“Eleven-fifteen.”

Relief sweeps through me
before I shoot him a look. “You ever humiliate me like that again, we're done,”
I say flatly.

His breath catches and he
momentarily looks confused. “You're more upset over that, than the fact that I
hit you?”

“I'm pissed in general, Cole.
Night,” I say as I turn and head up the rock path that leads to the front door.

Once I am inside, I find
myself actually praying that Noah would be somewhere else in the house where I
wouldn't come across him. I need the night to figure out how to explain my lip
and formulate a believable lie. As I make my way through the living room and
toward the hallway between the kitchen and living room, I hear Cole's
motorcycle roaring off down the street.