Page 101 of Riot Act
Silly, silly Chase. Does she really think that an old sash window is gonna stop me? I take a suitably flexible card from my wallet and wedge it into the gap between the frame and the window, and then I work it through, wiggling it from side to side until it catches on the latch and flips it up. Fucking cakewalk.
Once I’m inside, I make myself very comfortable on her bed and I wait.
She shows up half an hour later, carrying her laptop and a stack of books in her hands. She lets out a yelp when she flicks on the light switch and finds me stretched out on top of her comforter.
“I knew it. Iknewyou were gonna be in here,” she hisses, slamming the door closed behind her.
“If you knew then why did you squeal like a frightened little mouse?”
“Because it’s still a surprise when you turn on the lights in your room and find that someone’s been lurking there, waiting for you in the dark.” Her voice brims over with reproach. I almost feel bad for scaring her. But not quite.
I point at the laptop and books in her arms. “I take it you were in the library, writing your little heart out?”
“What’s it to you, where I was?”
“You and I are creating a story together, sweetheart. It matters if you were writing your chapter because I need it before I can write mine. I’m being held up because you’re not delivering on your end of the bargain.”
“You came here and waited for me in the dark because you wanted to personally come and get my chapter?” She crosses the room and sets her things down on the desk. “I said I’d email it to you.”
“No. I came here to have sex with you.”
She whirls around, leaning against the desk. Her eyes are alive, bright and sharp. Fuck, every time I look into them now, all I can see is the moment when she woke up on the concrete outside the hospital, gasping for that first life-saving breath. She was so beautiful and so terrible in that moment, and I knew it then. I knew I was in trouble, but I buried it down.
“We’re not supposed to mention the sex, remember,” she says. Her cheeks are high with color. Her pale, pale skin and her Celtic hair refuse to let her hide her emotions. It’d be a crime to hide the kind of beauty that blossoms on her face. “What?” she whispers. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I sit up, positioning myself on the edge of her bed, facing her. “I’m tired,” I say.
“Then you should probably go home and sleep.” She gestures to the window.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here with you,” I tell her softly.
Her brow furrows. She shakes her head. “I don’t—what? First, that kiss in the hall. Now this? You’re being weird, Pax.”
How do I explain that the tight, angry, sharp-edged pieces of me are unfolding? Thatshehas done this to me, and I’m as confused about it all as she is. I can only say, “I’m being…me.” She has no idea how monumental that is. How long I’ve done everything in my power tonotbe me.
“You’re scaring me.”
I can’t help but laugh at this. For the past month, she’s adamantly refused that she’s afraid of me. She’s faced the chaos and the madness of me with her shoulders back and her chin defiantly raised, and she hasn’t backed down. Now that I’m done raging and the storm within me is dying, I am calm. I am still.Nowshe is afraid.
Oh, the irony.
“Wouldn’t you rather be playing video games or something?” she asks nervously.
“I play video games ’cause I have intrusive thoughts when my mind isn’t constantly engaged.” I’ve never told this to anyone. “I start thinking about all of these different things. I start…fixating on things that are out of my control.”
She thinks for a moment. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I fixate on fucking climate change, and how shit the world’s gonna be in thirty years. I start thinking about kids starving in Africa, and how my friends don’t need me the way I need them, and how I’m probably going to be a terrible father, and how I’ll probably never be able to open up to anyone the way I’m opening up to you right now.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, her throat working. “Whyareyou opening up to me right now? If this is another ploy to get me to—”
“When I’m around you. I don’t need the distraction of a video game or a camera in my hand. My head is quiet.” I try to say more and can’t. This is as much as I can tell her right now. I haven’t worked out how to put into words what I’m thinking or feeling. I’m not strong enough to tell her what Iwantyet.
She looks astonished. “Pax—”
“Do you give a shit about me, Chase? Do you care enough about me to take this further than we have?”
I’ve never cared about anyone enough to pose this question even in my head. It’s just not a consideration that has ever crossed my mind. I’ve treated people like shit. I’ve hurt people on purpose, for fun, because it was entertaining to me. I’ve done all kinds of shitty things to people, and I’ve never calculated the cost or considered the consequences, because I never, not for one split second, thought I’d care enough aboutanyoneto worry about them assessing me as a good and decent human being.
