Chapter Eighteen

Hot water beats against my back as I stand motionless in the shower. Regret hanging over me like a storm cloud. I don't know what I was thinking using Britney of all people to piss Dahlia off. When she sent a text wishing me good luck at the fight, I couldn't resist the opportunity. Told the stupid slut to meet me there. Told her she's my good luck charm.

I didn't mean any of it or for things to go as far as they did. I damn sure wasn't about to fight her douche boyfriend to make my point. What I didn't expect was Dahlia to fall for Gauge's bullshit good guy act. I should have known better. I would have expected Remy to make a move on her, but Gauge has always had a way with girls. His quick wit and easygoing personality are enough to charm even the most resistant. And Dahlia… Dahlia isn't like Britney, but she's not immune to him. If anything, her quiet demeanor made her easy prey for a guy like him. I should know because I'm guilty of the same stunts.

Then to see that stupid photo of Gauge looming toward her, as if he was going to steal a kiss pissed me off and hit me harder than any punch I had taken in the ring tonight. It was like a sharp jab to my gut. Unexpected and painful.

After shutting the tap off, I wrap a towel around my waist. My mind keeps replaying the stupid drama at the party. Britney ate up the attention. I should have known she was using me, too. Then there's Dahlia's troubled expression as she took it all in. Gauge was all too eager to play her hero, swooping in at just the right moment to whisk her away from all the commotion.

I don't know which is more annoying. Britney starting all this unnecessary bullshit and my playing into it or Gauge taking advantage of the situation. Dahlia is smart. Surely she can see it's all an act to get in her pants while pissing me off.

I open the door to her room, letting myself inside. I lock the door behind me, not that I expect anyone to try to come in, but one can never be too careful. She's at that nerdy chick, Lauren's house. I wouldn't blame her if she came running back home. I probably should have forced her to come home with me, but with the mood I'm in, it's better she stays away.

I flick on her lamp, the dim light casting a soft glow around her belongings. I make my way to her dresser, my fingers grazing over the countless pictures she keeps in an old shoebox decorated in flower doodles. Mostly pictures of her father. He was always funny, and I remember wishing when they'd come to visit that my mom had married a guy like him instead of John. There are even a few shots of us when we were younger, when neither of us knew the bullshit life had in store for us. Dahlia was chubby back then, but I still liked her. She was such a dork, always following me around.

As I pick up an old polaroid, pain stabs me in the chest. We're both laughing in the image, tangled up in each other, playing on my old slip and slide. My arm is draped around her, while she leans her head against my shoulder. Both of us are wearing cherry Kool-Aid mustaches.

I scoff bitterly as I put the pictures back into the box. How stupidly na?ve we were back then. I thought maybe that things would get better. That John would treat me like a son and Dahlia likely never thought her father would pass away the way he did when he did.

Moving away from her dresser, I sit on her neatly made bed, sinking into the soft comforter. The sweet scent of her perfume wraps around me as I stare up at the ceiling, wondering what she's doing right now.

Probably sleeping or chatting with Lauren about the mayhem that ensued at that stupid as fuck party. Maybe even laughing about it. Bet she loved seeing me get slapped. Or is she talking to Gauge or that boyfriend of hers from back home? As I lie here running all the scenarios through my head, a pang of guilt claws at my chest. For the first time, I'm worried I've pushed her too far. Maybe right into Gauge's arms.

I rake my hands through my hair, trying to shake off the unease. The soft hum of her laptop catches my attention and I glance over to see that she's left it open on her desk.

Against my better judgement, I leave the softness of her bed and go to her desk. On the screen are search tabs filled with results for van life vlogs and maps. It's obvious Dahlia has been thinking about her escape plan. A wave of remorse and nostalgia hits me. Before my dad passed, that was what he always told Mom we were going to do. Does Dahlia know that? Did I ever share that with her? I don't think so as I had forgotten about it until looking at her open tabs triggered the memory of my mom telling me one of the few times, she would speak of him after he passed away.

I go back to my pretty little doll's bed, flopping down on her pillows, closing my eyes, and inhaling her scent. I conjure her image in my mind. Her flawless smile. Her gorgeous eyes and shiny hair that I want to wrap my fingers up in. It doesn't take much to remind myself how sweet her lips tasted the last time we kissed.

Sliding my hand down my abs and into the towel, I grip my cock, giving it a few pumps. I stroke myself to the memory as the scene plays out in my head, turning from tame to dirty quick. I imagine her hands and mouth on me, doing every little dirty thing I command. My breaths grow ragged as the fantasy unfolds. Dahlia's flushed cheeks. Her glancing up at me from under her thick lashes while the sounds of her soft whimpers fill the room. I've always imagined she'll be a vocal one, moaning and crying out my name as I have my way with her.

The thought of her legs wrapped around my waist, nails digging into my back as I drive into her, sets me off. My climax is intense. A desperate release pent up from an unsatisfied need to have her. It leaves me panting and spent on her bed, my body still tingling from the aftershocks.

For a moment, I lay here, basking in the blissful solace that's only found in post orgasm. Yet soon enough, that fades. The familiar regret rushes back like a tidal wave, leaving me feeling empty and alone. The churning within my gut is a sobering reminder she's pissed at me and would likely never allow things to be taken that far.

I can dream, though.

I have since she arrived. Every night.

It's an asshole thing to do, but I've never claimed to be a good guy. I wipe myself off on one of her pillows and flip the wet side down. The idea of her laying her head on her pillow unknowingly in my come gives me a thrill. I should go over to Lauren's and sneak in to talk to her. Apologize for tonight. For all the things I said and did.

I should, but I don't. I roll off her bed, unlock the door, return to the bathroom to brush my teeth, wondering how I will explain these bruises away if Mom or John give a shit enough to notice them.

I go back to my room and get into bed. My dark colored sheets are cold, and a harsh contrast to Dahlia's warm and inviting ones. The light coming from the moon outside my window casts long shadows around the room. I lay awake for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying tonight's events over and over in my head.

I try to convince myself that Gauge is just doing what any guy like him would do, but it still pisses me off. It's one thing to play games with Britney or any of the other popular girls who know what they're getting themselves into. But Dahlia? She's different. She deserves better than Gauge's games, or my own for that matter. Yet, despite knowing what I do, I know I won't stop. Neither of us will until one of us wins.

It's what we do.

I'm too competitive. Always have been. Dahlia will be no different than those who've come before her.

Only this time, I'll ruin her and myself in the process. No matter what it takes, she'll be mine.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, dragging me down into fitful sleep filled with images of Dahlia and Gauge at the party, haunting me as I toss and turn.

I wake up early the next morning, before the sun has even risen. That uneasiness in my gut that I can't shake off because I know I hurt her yesterday is back, gnawing at me with full force.

Unable to resume sleeping, I grab my sneakers and go for a run around the block to clear my head. As my feet pound against the pavement, I can't stop recalling the heated conversation I had out here yesterday with Dahlia. I keep seeing her hurt expression. That lost look in her eyes killed me and still, all I wanted to do was make her hurt like I do.

Will she keep her mouth shut about what I told her, or will she use it against me when the time comes that she has to make a choice.

She has no idea how deep this shit goes and how involved our families are.