Page 24 of Dash

He doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t know, because I sure as hell don’t.

“Goodnight, Dash.” I back away from him, facing him in case… in case of what? I can’t take my eyes off him. “Thanks for caring,” I say as I reach the stairs. “But you’ll learn pretty fast that I’m not really worth caring about.”

And then, I turn and ignore everything as I rush up the stairs. I don’t stop moving until I’m in front of my door, fumbling in my bag for my keys. I can’t breathe, can’t think, because this situation is so dangerous it feels like my head might explode. He looked at me like I matter. Like he could save me.

He kissed me like he wanted to be more than fuck buddies.

And that shit scares me more than anything else.

I drop my keys, my fingers numb, and curse. I ignore the dizzy wave that bowls through me as I scoop them up, only to drop them again.

“Fuck, Dayna,” I snap.

I get them in the lock, fumbling, and once I’m inside, I sag onto my sofa, draping my arm over my eyes, wishing for once I would do what my mother wants and disappear.

What am I doing?

He might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m already fucking it up.

I sit up slowly.

As always, I’m setting fire to the ashes before they’ve burned out.

He didn’t deserve any of the shit I gave him. Guilt swirls in my belly, thick and clogging. Hate yourself but don’t pass that shit onto other people.

Dash helped. He protected when he should have left me to rot.

Why did he protect me?

He could have turned the other way. Pretended he didn’t see me in trouble. He didn’t blink before he waded in. If I’m being honest I would have admitted I was out of my depth tonight. I got into a situation that had the potential to go badly. That man was pushy and arrogant. I was already drowning.

And Dash…

Fuck.

He put me on his bike. He gave me his hoodie and his helmet.

He brought me home, walked me into my building and I was a bitch.

Shit, shit, SHIT.

I grab my phone before collapsing back onto the cushions. His hoodie is warm and far too comfortable.

I scroll my messages and open the one Ivy sent this morning with his number.

I’ve never been more grateful that my best friends don’t listen to me.

I hesitate before I write the message to him.

Thanks for the hoodie.

And the save from Mr. Grabby Hands.

And the ride home.

Sorry I’m such a messy bitch.

I hit send before I can second guess myself. I don’t expect a reply. He shouldn’t respond to me. I was horrible.

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