Page 80 of Hide and Keep

In answer, Crue opens the book to a sketch of his full torso, his head turned to the side, a hand on his rock-hard abs, and I let my shoulders droop, my breaths finally coming easier.

It’s the newest sketchbook. The one before this had sketches of him in his costume from Hide and Keep. After a while though, that got old, so I started focusing on different parts of him, trying to see if I could imagine what he looked like without the costume.

He starts flipping the pages, lingering momentarily on sketches of butterflies, the atrium, and the sea, all between every angle imaginable of Crue.

I drewallparts of him, which is mortifying, yes, but not incriminating. Nothing in this sketchbook puts me at Hide and Keep. I can act like I crossed paths with him somewhere else.

Eyebrows nearly touching as he continues perusing my private artwork, he questions, “How are theresomany? Is this all you do once you close your door?”

He thinks these were all drawn in the last couple days.

I don’t date my drawings. That’s my one saving grace here. I don’t care if he thinks I’m a manic stalker. It’s better than him knowing the truth.

I force my feet to move in his direction.

The sputtering flame the only noise in the room, Crue hears my shoes against the hardwood floor and lifts his head to watch my approach.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed…” I gently slide the book out of his grasp and start thumbing through the pages myself, his gaze from below merciless. “…that I have a fascination with the underprivileged.”

I snap the book shut, and using both hands, slap him across the face with it, making his head whip to the side viciously, his cheek already looking as inflamed as mine feel.

Without righting his head, he says, “It must kill you.”

That I’ll never know if you’d like me for me?

That I’ll never know if anyone likes me for me?

That my father will never let anyone like me for me?

That I can’t grab your face and kiss you until my lungs give out?

Yes. It kills me. It all fucking kills me.

“What?” I ask, staring at the lips I’d give anything to feel on mine again.

Slowly, he rotates his head back to look at me. “To know you’ll never actually be able to see what my cock looks like hard.”

“Because you’re impotent?”

He shoves to his feet, putting us only inches apart. I have to crane my neck way back to meet his gaze, but I do it, because I refuse to be intimidated by him.

With his eyes flicking between mine, he says, “Only around you,” then brushes past me.

“That’s gonna make for a dry three years,” I mutter just to rub salt in the wound while I can.

“For both of us.”

I can’t help my chuckle at his arrogance.

“Not for me. I—”

“No longer have a way to sneak out and get dick.” Crue doesn’t break stride, only sticks an arm out to his side, pointing at the window he came through. “That was another reason for being in here. I put sensors on both your windows, along with your door. You so much as tap one of the surfaces and it’ll alert my phone.”

He drums his fingers on the door on his way out, then holds his phone up over his shoulder for me to see the screen light up with a notification.

With a screamed, “Stay out of my fucking room!” I throw my sketchbook at the back of his head. Unfortunately, it hits the closed door a second too late before falling to the floor, sheets of paper strewn all around it.

“Ugh!” I stomp into my bathroom and grab the edge of the granite counter with both hands, pulling like I’m able to rip the whole thing off. Strange noises gurgle in the back of my throat as I attempt to keep it all in.

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