Page 34 of Bitter When He Begs

His green eyes hold mine, unblinking. “Yeah.”

I nod slowly, dragging my tongue across my teeth before setting my coffee down. “Alright,” I say and tilt my head toward the door.

The door swings shut behind us, muffling the sounds of the guys still inside, leaving nothing but the quiet hum of the world waking up around us. My heart is still hammering from the run, my body still thrumming with that familiar, jittery edge—the one that comes when I try to quit cold turkey, when I tell myself I can do this on my own.

Damon stops next to his bike, tapping his fingers lightly against the handlebars, his expression unreadable.

I watch him, my stance loose like I don’t give a shit what this is about, like I don’t feel like I might crawl out of my own fucking skin if I don’t get something in my system soon.

He breathes out a sigh, shaking his head slightly before glancing over at me. “You’re probably gonna hate me for this,” he says, voice level. “But I don’t give a fuck.”

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Oh yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” Then, after a beat, “I know what you’re going through.”

I blink, then narrow my eyes at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Damon doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, his eyes too fucking knowing, like he’s peeling back my skin and seeing the things I’ve kept buried for so long.

Then he says it.

“I was addicted to pills, too.”

Everything in me locks up, and for a second, I swear my heart stops beating and my blood turns to ice. I don’t move or even breathe, because there’s no fucking way he just said that. There’s no way he knows. There’s no way he sees me.

I force a laugh, shaking my head. “That’s cute, Damon. Real fucking cute.”

But he doesn’t smirk or laugh or react the way he’s supposed to. He just keeps looking at me. “You’re in withdrawal, Luca,” he says, and my heart fucking drops. “I’ve been watching you. You think you’re hiding it, but I see it.”

My stomach twists, and I shake my head. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Damon watches me for a long second, then exhales through his nose, like he expected me to say that.

“I see the way your hands shake when you think no one’s looking. The way you get mean when the withdrawals hit. The way you run most mornings like you’re trying to outrun something inside your own fucking head.” His voice is calm and cuts through me like a blade. “I know because I’ve been there. I see you.”

My chest feels tight, my pulse thudding slow and hard against my skull, but I keep my smirk in place, and keep my voice easy. “You’re imagining things.”

Damon huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You really think I don’t know what withdrawal looks like?” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “You took something last night, didn’t you?”

For a split second, I forget how to fucking breathe. But then I shove it down and roll my eyes, scoffing as I step back. “Jesus, you sound like a fucking intervention ad. I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but you’re wrong.”

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s waiting for me to get it. “I’ve been clean for three years. Three fucking years, so I know whatit looks like. The sleepless nights, the way you push yourself harder in the gym, the way you run until your body gives out just so you don’t have to feel it anymore.” He exhales, dragging a hand through his curls before pinning me with a look that makes my stomach fucking churn. “I see it because I lived it, Luca.”

My throat goes dry, and my chest aches with shame. I shake my head again, my fingers twitching at my sides. “I’m not like you.”

Damon lifts an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

My jaw clenches. “I’ve got it handled.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a second, I think he’s going to drop it. That he’s going to let me pretend for just a little longer, or be like everyone else and turn a blind eye. That he’ll let me keep up the act, let me keep fucking destroying myself without so much as a second glance.

But, then, that’s not Damon.

“No, you don’t,” he says, simply. Matter-of-fact. No room for argument.

And fuck, that pisses me off. I exhale sharply, dragging my hands through my hair, turning away for a second, my whole body vibrating with the need to get away from this conversation.

“Luca.”

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