But, of course, I stay right there. I fold my arms over my chest. “Yeah. I do.”
He stiffens a little. “It’s…you. You and Parker and all these professors. You sit around and wax poetic about violence and starvation and inequality while sitting on one of the wealthiest college campuses in the South. Completely safe. No risk. And then people like Parker judge people like me who have to make those decisions.”
“And live with the consequences,” I whisper.
He hesitates. His mouth opens, then snaps closed. Like my answer surprises him as much as it does me.
“Yeah.”
He's watching me. I want to step closer to him but I can't. I won't.
Because I'm not blind to the darkness in Mr. Douglas. It's there, just below the surface. Like a pot of water just before it boils.
The tension is back, now. A slow burning anger I should be getting as far away from as I possibly can.
"What?" I finally ask, needing something to break the spell between us.
"Why do you care why I got angry in class? You don’t even know my name.”
I narrow my eyes at him and open my mouth, then snap it closed, mirroring his earlier action. I didn't expect the question and I have no idea how to answer.
Because in reality, I don’t have an answer for why I’m standing here at the moment.
Damn it.
My brain finally latches on to the first thing I come up with.
"Wookie life debt. Payback for you helping me the other night."
I try to leave then. Hoping that he’ll let me go and put all my curiosity away. For good.
"Hey." His voice tugs at me to stop.
I won't look at him now. Because I'm ashamed of what he'll see if he looks into my eyes.
And I can't stand the thought of him seeing the needful loneliness that has become my constant companion since Robert ripped my heart out and left it bleeding on the cobblestone sidewalk.
"What's your name?" His voice is low and quiet. Steady now. Almost calm.
I turn, unable to avoid looking at him now.
It dawns on me that no, I don't know his name.
I stand there for a moment, hesitant. The last time this happened, I fell too far, too fast.
This time will be different. Because I'm not going to make the same mistake twice.
It's like standing too close to an electrical current.
The simplicity of the question is deceptively benign.
I'm drawn to him in a way that is unhealthy and dangerous. He's already consuming my thoughts, drawing my attention away from the matter at hand and luring me down a dark corridor where only dark thoughts and whispered need twist together.
I hold up one hand, needing to break the spell or whatever is going on between us. My hand collides with his chest, and I am flush against the stark reminder of this man's strength and power and capability to do violence.
Before the rational part of my brain kicks in, I brush my fingertips gently over the bruised and damaged skin above his eye.
He goes still beneath my touch. That full bottom lip opens a little. A tiny space, but I can feel the heat of his breath on my wrist.
His eyes are locked on mine. I'm trapped, unable to move. I'm not sure I want to. I'm furious for him but I'm frozen, burning where my fingers touch his skin.
I cannot move. Cannot look away.
"I'm Josh," he whispers. An answer to an unasked question.
I swallow the sudden lump blocking my throat. "Abby."
"Abby." He repeats my name and it sounds something like a prayer, whispered in reverence and awe.
I lower my hand then but he catches it. His palm is rough and big, surrounding mine. "It’s nice to meet you, Abby," he says softly.
And I say nothing. Because in his eyes I see a hint of something I am longing for.
And it is something that terrifies me.
Chapter 6
Josh
I have to stop thinking about her. I have to put her out of my mind and crawl back into the dead space where I’ve been living since I came home from the war.
It really sucks when you're trying to crawl into a bottle because you need to stop thinking about things and can't summon the energy to get blasted. I'm tired of listening to the voice in my head, and I'm hoping to drown that little f*ck
er.
It keeps whispering that I’ll f*ck
up. That I’ll say the wrong thing and everyone can look at me and see the blood and the gore and the twisted parody of humanity that I’m pretending to be. All the memories are circling tonight because I’ve met her. Abby.
Making me want to pretend I’m not a f*ck
ing monster. Making me want to forget everything that has come before, that’s made me into the half man I am today. All of it. Burning my skin again, searing my nose with the smell of blood and fire and the wild thrilling shame of it.
I head to The Pint, because I don't keep alcohol in my apartment. That would make it too easy to sit in the dark and drink by myself. Drinking is only a problem when you hide it, right?
I'm not hiding it. No, I'm about to get f*ck
ed up in public at the only place that feels even remotely like somewhere I fit. Maybe I should ask Eli for a job. I spend enough time here.