Page 184 of Ominous: Part 1
Everyone loves Eli. He’sadored.
But adoration isn’t enough for him, is it? He wants to feel the sting of life too, just like I do. Still, images of Eric’s violent hands on this boy who I think I could fall in love with flash inside my head. I only manage to last until Eli walks out of the circle of the mat and accepts his coach’s congratulations and slap on the back before I stand, excusing myself to Eric and walking down the steps and out of the gym without another word, Eli’s hoodie clutched close to my chest.
* * *
“Why did you run off?”
I tense, turning in the darkness of his car to meet Eli’s gaze. Trafalgar won, his dad was still beaming when we parted ways with him out here in the parking lot, Eli’s car at the very back of the lot, forests behind us that line Roanoke High’s property. There were a lot of sweaty boys, frosty congratulations between the two teams, then Eli took a quick shower, his hair still wet now, and we walked out here together with his dad.
Everyone, it seems, has left, the bus long gone, the cars from parents and students too.
Eli has the Infiniti running, windows rolled up, even though the night outside actually felt really good, having cooled off from the humid, hot day. But as clammy as I get, I’m not complaining about the cold air from the vents.
“I had to pee,” I lie.
His hand is on the wheel, one on his thigh. He’s in sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and even from here I can smell the plain soap he must have showered with.
I glance at the time on the console. I have another three hours before Mom expects me to be home.
It’ll take an hour and a half to drive back, maybe less with Eli behind the wheel, which means we have plenty of time to sit here. But in my head, I’m thinking of the bruises, and Eli’s dad, and the shattered picture frame from the weekend before last that seemed to ruin Eli’s entire mood.
“You did good tonight,” I keep talking. “Watching you wrestle is kind of surreal. You move so fast and you—”
He unclicks his seatbelt, reaching for the button on the side of the seat to move it back.
“Come here.” His words are gravelly.
I look up, my arms crossed over my chest, a way to try and ease some of the discomfort running through me, the way I feel fidgety in my seat. “What?”
He drops his hand from the wheel, to his lap. “Here,” he says, nodding toward his thighs. “Come sit with me.”
I feel feverish, tingling aches flooding through my body, physicality overriding everything in my head for a moment. I glance through the windshield at the empty parking lot of the school, and he must know what I’m thinking.
“No one is here. My windows have five percent tint. No one can see us.”
“Your windshield isn’t—”
“No one is here.” He repeats the words, more urgent.
I turn to look at him, my fingertips pressing into my upper arms. When I still don’t move, he leans over toward me, unclicking my own seatbelt, letting it slide across my chest before he reaches for me, underneath my arms, hauling me over the console even as my knees bang against it, and I have to duck my head. My fingers scramble for purchase against his shirt as he pulls me onto his lap, my knees on either side of his hips, depressing the leather of his seat.
My spine is touching the steering wheel, but as short as I am, once I’m on top of him, I don’t have to duck much. It’s not uncomfortable, even with his hands planted along my hips, squeezing hard as he stares up at me, my bangs hanging around my eyes.
He reaches up with one hand, gently releasing the clip in my hair and dropping it into the console alongside my bracelet without looking away from me. His fingers tangle through my strands as he pulls me down to him, so our noses are aligned.
“You looked so fucking hot sitting in those bleachers.” His throat sounds sore, his words gruff.
My fingers are splayed over his shirt, feeling the hardness of his chest, the shallow, sharp rises and falls as he breathes. “Yeah?”God, I want to fuck you again.I haven’t gotten it out of my head since last Friday. I don’t know if I did anything right. I don’t know that I did anythingat all,but it felt so good, andhewas so good. I’ve imagined it in my head all week, I haven’t even watched porn to get off. I haven’t even imagined all those violent things he said, all that shit he was studying on his computer.
He still has his hand fisted in my hair, and he pulls me even closer as he tilts his head, his lips brushing mine. “Yes.” He gives me just the ghost of a kiss, not lending me the time to kiss him back before he’s speaking again. “I want you there all the time. Every match.”
My pulse feels fluttery in my chest. I don’t really believe him. I don’t know if it’s because I intuitively understand Eli will only ever be temporary, foranyone,or if it’s my own personal block. There are two possibilities, and neither make me feel good. Either I’m too damaged to see his authenticity, or else I am able to see itexactly,because of my damage. Just like when he stalked me from the library. I shouldn’t have got high on it, the power of having him follow me.But I did. I do.
“Not just this season,” he continues, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Only the dash lights in his car give us anything to see by, but it’s enough. “Next year too.”
The longing is deep enough to feel in my bones. I push my fingers so hard against his chest, I expect his sternum to snap. I remember his bruise, and I know I’ve touched it, the way the softest wince flits across his features, his brows pulled together.
But he doesn’t stop me.
