Chapter Twenty

I'm in the kitchen looking for something to eat, like those dinners my mother promised to freeze for Dahlia and me for during the week that she never made when I hear a vehicle in the driveway. School let out over two hours ago. I give up on the food and go to see who's dropping Dahlia off, but before I can, the front door opens, and she struts in laughing, with Gauge following closely behind.

She turns to him, ignoring my presence completely. "Thanks for dinner. It was fun."

He grins at me over her shoulder as he moves in for a hug, sliding his hand to her hip and flipping me off behind her back. The burning feeling of jealousy flares up in my chest. I swallow hard, pushing down the wave of irrational anger. Fighting against my intrusive thoughts that have me wanting to knock his ass out for touching her. It's none of my business who Dahlia hangs out with, or even dates.

If she wants to waste her time with him so be it.

Seeing them together like this, though, it feels like someone poured salt over a raw wound. I turn away and head to my room, deciding to put some distance between myself and this recent development. I wasn't aware things had progressed between them.

Guess this means I need to step up my game and make it my business.

I've kept my distance for a reason. A selfish one. Dahlia complicates everything. I feel her soft skin and silky hair even when she's nowhere near me. I can't afford to develop true feelings for her. Neither of us needs for that to happen.

A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. "Are you okay?" It's Dahlia standing here, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, looking all sweet and kissable. Pretending she's innocent and doesn't have a clue why I'd be upset at the sight of her with one of my best friends.

"I'm fine," I tell her, wearing a vacant smile. "Just tired." She's not the only one who has trouble sleeping. Funny that the two of us only get sleep on the nights I sneak into her bed. Does she even realize that it's me who calms her fears and takes away her nightmares?

"Gauge left. He said to tell you they'd be at Remy's if you want to get drunk with them."

"Are you two a thing now?"

"Careful. It almost sounds like you care."

"We both know I don't."

"That'd mean you'd have to actually feel something."

I'm feeling something all right.

Dahlia stares at me with longing in her eyes.

Did she kiss Gauge downstairs before he took off?

Is she waiting for me to be jealous? Hoping I'll toy with her some more?

I've kept my distance, other than sneaking into her bed a few nights a week so that we can both get enough sleep to function normally, but it's been hard to ignore her.

Sometimes I sit in the bathroom floor with my ear pressed to her connecting door, listening to her in her bed. I know she touches herself while thinking about me because it's my name that leaves those pretty pink lips.

It's taking every ounce of control I have not to pull her towards me and claim those lips. I take her hand, rubbing my fingers along the lines of her palm and back again, trailing them along the veins showing on her wrist and up her arm through her nearly translucent skin. She's so pale.

All I can think about is marking her perfect skin with my fingerprints and teeth.

Claiming her. Marking her for all to see that she's mine.

Her soft breath leaves her lips in a tiny gasp as I move her hair from around her face before wrapping my hand around her throat. "Is this your way of getting back at me? Leading one of my best friends around by his dick like he's a lost puppy."

"No," she whispers.

I apply a gentle pressure, squeezing enough to cause discomfort as her eyes widen. Not in fear, surprise in herself at her reaction to the things I'm doing. Anticipation of what's next. She enjoys me being rough with her. Only she has no idea how badly I could damage her if I wasn't being careful to hold back.

I'm so tired of staying away from her.

I lean in, bending down to run my nose along the edge of her jaw, nuzzling her, keeping my grasp on her throat. I glance up at her as her body trembles against mine. Her lust shines back at me and I know I have her exactly where I want her.

Gauge will never have her, but I will. I'm going to toy with her until she breaks.

"Such a pretty little dolly. But oh so fragile," I whisper, huskily.

Rubbing my thumb along the soft padding of her bottom lip, I continue to gaze into her eyes, taunting my darling doll. She wants my mouth on hers so fucking bad I nearly lose control when she whimpers. The sound goes straight to my dick.

I should tug her into my room and end this game right now, but that would spoil the fun.

"Do you want me to kiss you again?" I nip at her ear, pressing my tongue to the skin right under the lobe.

She shivers at my words, but her answer is unbearably soft, a simple shake of her head. I smirk, knowing she's lying. She wants me just as much as I want her. She's just afraid to admit it.

"Just as well," I reply, stepping away reluctantly and letting my hand drop from around her throat. "You're not my type."

I watch her eyes flash with confusion and a hint of hurt before she spins around and marches off down the hallway. There's a sense of satisfaction in knowing that I can still get under her skin, but there's also an unfamiliar pang striking at my chest. It's the realization that I've hurt someone who matters to me more than I'm willing to admit.

I close the door behind her and flop onto my bed, thinking about her. Always fucking her. I can't get her out of my head. She's driving me crazy. Her laughter, her fire, and how infuriatingly attractive she is when she challenges me. But what's even scarier is the fact that I've started seeing her as more than a game. I care about her feelings when I shouldn't. Caring will only bring us both more pain.

However, it won't stop me from ruining her.

From tormenting both of us.

The dull ache from my shoulder injury burns and throbs. I really did a new number on it by showing off at practice to please Coach. I know better than to push it to the limit. I know any day now my shoulder is going to give out and football won't be my ticket out of here. I've been saving. Doing stupid fights. Racing my car. Whatever it takes to leave this damn house and never look back.

The painkillers I took earlier are wearing off. I don't know how I'll be able to play in tomorrow's big game. With a heavy sigh and increased self-loathing, I pop more pills. More than I should take, but not enough to hurt me. Only enough to give me a slight buzz and numb the pain for a little while.

Eventually, I pass out to awaken in the middle of the night, well past midnight.

Fuck my life. I glance at my phone to see I have zero missed messages. Zero notifications. It would be pathetic if I didn't already know that no one truly gives a shit about me. Not my stepfather. Not even my own mother gives a fuck as long as I do my part to maintain this perfect image they've created. Absently, my fingers trace the edges of the sleek black phone. The silence from the device isn't unusual, but tonight, it seems magnified. Is this what I've been reduced to? Being mocked by the silence stemming from my fucking phone. I'm Kyson fucking Allen. Being captain of the football team means I'm popular. I'm desirable… yet not a single soul in this world cares enough to check up on me.

I reach for the bottle of whisky under my bed, hidden away from prying eyes to stop myself from going to her bed and wrapping my arms around her. The bottle feels warm in my hand even though it's been stored away in the dark. The escape it will provide is a comforting warmth that spreads out from my palm and engulfs me. The liquid burns as it travels down my throat, lighting up the dark emptiness within me.

In the lonely silence of my room, surrounded by the crushing guilt and regret, I think about Dahlia again. Perfect, beautiful Dahlia. Her innocent smile and those wanting eyes haunt my thoughts as I lay here trying to drown all my sorrows.

No matter what, I'm never good enough. I'm never enough. But Dahlia looks at me like she thinks I'm somebody. Like she expects more from me than anyone else, and that kills me more than anything. Because part of me wishes I could live up to her image of me, but I can't.

I'm not a good guy.

In the end, I'll only destroy her beauty and I'll get off on it.

It's what I do.

I ruin anyone who dares to love me.

"Get your head out of your ass," Coach gripes at me, slapping his palm against the side of my helmet.

I'm sluggish from drinking far too much. I've just missed another pass. He should bench my ass, but he can't afford to. I'm the best player he's got, and everyone knows it. The sun is too bright, and the air too thick with humidity and expectation. My mouth feels like sandpaper. Everything is a blur. The black jerseys of my teammates, the green of the field stretching out before me, even the resounding roar of the crowd seems distant, unreal. It's all haze, and every sound is static buzzing in my ears.

My shoulder throbs in time with my heartbeat, an insistent reminder of my weakness.

"We need you to focus, Allen," Coach barks. "You screw this up and we're out of the running for state."

I nod without meeting his eyes. I'm not sure I could look him straight in the face even if I wanted to. I don't want him seeing how bloodshot my eyes are or how heavy the dark circles under them are. I barely slept at all last night. Every step I take is a battle not to vomit.

"Get your shit together," he snaps before walking away, leaving me standing here with the responsibility and knowledge that I'm single-handedly carrying an entire team's dream on my shoulders.

The weight feels unbearable.

All I want to do is disappear. But then, as though she's my saving grace, I hear Dahlia's laughter ringing through the air. I focus on her blonde hair shining from the bleachers like a fucking beacon of hope. I don't know why but having her here gives me a renewed sense of determination.

I don't know why she bothered to come and though I'd never tell her as much, I'm glad she's here. No one else from my household gives a damn. I can't even remember the last time my own mother showed up to support me.

I glance back in Dahlia's direction and wonder if she's here to cheer for me or Gauge.

I get my answer when she turns her back and I see her wearing the shirt with my number on the back.

That's my good girl.

I grin and get back on the field.

At halftime, I pop four more painkillers. I know I shouldn't be on the field in the shape I'm in, but there's no alternative. The team is counting on me. If I fuck this up, it'll only serve as another reason for John to ride my ass harder than he already does.

I trudge back onto the field and play my damn heart out because she's watching.

My dolly.