Page 46 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

“Oh really?” He rushes forward, cups my cock, and laughs when I grunt. “Then you’re a junkie too, baby. And I’m your drug. Always waiting for the next time I’ll give you that fix. Feels good, doesn’t it?” He strokes me through my sweats, and I can’t help but grind into him. “Hypocrite.” Snatching his hand away, he bends to get his suitcase.

He’s not leaving, not like this, not after ripping each other up like we are. He’ll find the first drug dealer in LA, and I’m not having that shit on my conscience. I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him away from his suitcase, and he bellows, kicking like crazy. “Let me go!”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I flip him, toss him over my shoulder, and carry his flailing body into my bedroom like some mindless caveman.

“Damn it, Phoenix!” He grabs a wad of my hair and yanks.

I toss him on the bed, startling Helios, who leaps away. “You started this shit.” I pin him down.

“There you go again, desperate bitch,” he snarls, bucking under me.

“Maybe I am!” I scream in his face. “Maybe I am desperately tired of your bullshit—tired of wanting you.”

His dick swells under me, pretty blue eyes searing holes into my sanity. “Do it,” he taunts, lifting his head to lick my lips. “Use me. Get your fix.”

Taking his thin wrists in my hands, I hold them over his head, panting and trying to get a grip. I’m soangry. Like last year, my temper is getting the better of me, and I don’t know how to stop it.

Nothing he’s said has been wrong. God, I hate him for it.

“I’m the only one who has ever made you feel seen. You love that I live in your blood. That the only time your dick gets hard is because of me. So fucking take what you want.” He kisses my chin, and I jerk my head higher. “Don’t stop now. You have me just how you want me.”

“I don’t want it like this. I never have.”

“Liar,” he sneers and rubs his hard cock against mine. “This is us. And now you have me beneath you.Do it.”

I glare at him, shaking over his frail body. “This was never us. We never went for blood.”

“Didn’t we?” His eyes well with sudden tears, all the fight leaving his body. “Either fuck me or let me go.” Slowly releasing his wrists, I swipe away the water staining his cheeks. “Stop fucking looking at me like that,” he growls, chin wobbling.

“How bad is it?” I’m asking about several things as the air leaves my sails, and I see so much pain in his features.

“We aren’t doing this.”

“How bad is it?” I repeat, cupping his cheek and stroking the stubble growing there. I search his face, recognizing all those telltale signs I keep ignoring because it’s easier to be mad. It’s easier to cling to my heartbreak than to acknowledge what I’ve done to him.

“Please,” he whines, trying to kiss me, but I don’t let him. He's not using his body or plush lips against me.

“I just want to know, Eli. I want to know everything, but I’ll settle for this. How bad is it without your medicine?”

Fresh tears spill as his lashes flutter. He holds my eyes for long seconds, arms still above his head like he can’t muster the strength to move them. “Without it,” he croaks, fear riddling his face. “Without it, I hear screams. Grunts. Without it, I remember. I remember everything.”

He's waiting for me to freak out or be aggressive. It's what he wants. To mask that vulnerability with hostility and lust so neither of us has the bandwidth to talk anymore. “Thank you,” I whisper, getting off him so I can lay on my side.

He breathes hard, fingers twitching near the headboard. His throat bobs before he says, “I don’t get high anymore. I can’t remember the last time it felt like that. Like…I was floating. It used to feel so good—better than anything.”

I stay quiet, watching him crack open. “I don’t feel good anymore. I wish I could tell you I felt good the whole time we were together. Most of the time, I did. But not all of it. That’s why I didn’t want to talk to you. Or see you. Because I knew you’d realize. I knew you’d see it. I’m so scared of you seeing this.”

“Why?” I ask softly.

Finally lowering his hands, he covers his face and cries. “I’m ashamed.”

Eli

Which Witch

Iwish he’d just fuck me, honestly.

I thought he was going to. I wouldn’t have objected, either. There’s animosity rotting away both of our hearts, and a good hate fuck might help with that. But he lays beside me, waiting for me to spill more of my guts. I think he loves me like this—all broken and disgusting. That’s got to be some mental disorder—to get hard while someone else is falling apart. Guess I have one of those disorders, too, because my dick still tingles despite the fact I’m crying.

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