9

-MALCOLM-

I'M SOmad. I'm so fucking mad.

I'm mad that he would be so fucking stupid.

And I'm mad that he can make me feel like this.

And I'm mad that I can't keep a hold on myself.

I want to punish him, but I'm so angry I don't know what I'd do. I might go too far and end up hurting him, so it's best to just leave. Get out of here and cool down.

I need to get a grip, but what he did was so fucking infuriatingly stupid. He's mine, and he didn't think to tell me about his allergy? He didn't even bother to bring his EpiPen with him!?

It's insulting.

Doesn't he realize that his death would affect other people? What if that wasp in the food court had stung him? He said they weren't deadly, but what if he had a bad reaction? What if it was actually a hornet? What if he went into anaphylactic shock, and I had no idea what was happening? I have to get out of here.

I storm down the hallway, my throat tight, the pressure building behind my eyes. There's so much going on inside my head, it's a whirlwind of emotions that's just too much for me. I shake my head viciously. I want to shout and punch something. Everything's straining to get out, and it's going for the easiest route; my eyes. They're hot and wet, and I blink tears back furiously.

Fuck. everything just happened too quickly. My explosion. Paul. The pen.

And it was going so fucking well! I didn't even get a chance to apologize for what I said. But if I try now I might just lose it and I can't do that in front of him. Imagine if he saw me crying. Then what would he think? I think that would be even worse than if he did dump me.

But he can't dump me because WE'RE NOT GOING OUT. Shit, how do I get out of here?

"Malcolm! Hey!"

I'm so angry I almost keep going, because I can't see North right now, I'm too mad to speak to him. But my body still stops and turns. It's only when I see who it is that I realize it's not North's voice. Instead, Paul's hurrying after me.

I grind my teeth. What's he doing back here? Did he follow us from the mall?

"Fuck off, Paul," I say.

He jogs the last few steps to close the distance between us. "I need to talk to you."

"And I need you to fuck off."

I go to storm off again, but he snags my arm. "Come on, please."

Blame the adrenaline shooting through my body, but at his touch, my dick remembers what it felt like to be buried inside him. It's too much for my brain to process on top of everything else. My body needs a release, and maybe Paul is the place to get it.

"Fine," I snap, jerking my arm away from him. "But hurry up. I have shit I need to do."

He leads the way into his dorm room. It's the complete opposite of North's room; neat and organized and boring. Lifeless. Kind of like my house. The whole time we had our sessions I never came in here. Looks like I didn't miss out on much.

"How much does an EpiPen cost?" I ask out of the blue.

He frowns. "What?"

"Nothing. What do you want?" I snap.

"Are you and North . . . seeing each other? Are you having sessions?"

"It's none of your business."

He licks his lips. "I want us to try again," he says.

I fold my arms across my chest, unamused. I ended our sessions months ago because Paul wanted me to do things to him that I don't do. It's my own personal rule, and I made that clear, but he wouldn't leave it alone. He kept pushing for it until my irritation at him outweighed the gratification.

"I told you, we don't work together. We both want different things out of the sessions—"

He cuts me off and I glower.

"I won't push you on the whipping thing anymore, I promise." The mention of it makes me twitch. I have my own personal reasons for my limits, and it's nothing he will ever understand.

He moves into my space, and I'm so distracted I let him. A small voice in the back of my head says why not? He wants to, take the release, get your stress out. Me and North aren't exclusive, I made that clear. My blood rises automatically at his proximity, at the promise of taking my pleasure from him.

"I know you're trying to make me jealous with North. And it's working, ok? I want back in."

What? I have to fight the urge to laugh. He's deluded if he thinks that's the reason.

"You think I've started sessions with North, just to make you jealous? Seriously? Paul, I don't care enough about you to do that."

He moves closer to me. My head is raging, my body is tight. Paul looks straight up incredulous, like it's the only logical reason. "Come on, you ended it with me abruptly and then a few months later started a partnership with someone else in my dorm, right in front of me. With the most popular guy in college?" He scoffs "You always hated him. You wouldn't shut up about it."

I look away. Suddenly the rush has passed; my body doesn't want the release, not with Paul, anyway. Yes, I did talk to him about North during our sessions. It's not a coincidence that Paul has similar coloring to him. That was when the release wasn't enough, and I had to rely on fantasies. When I had to run laps and jerk off over him just to clear my head and get some sleep. But now I have the real thing. I have the real North, and he's so much better than the fantasies ever were. And I can't lose that. I need to go back.

Paul shakes his head, still trying to convince himself. "And why else would you take him out for lunch in public? You told me you don't do that. Just two teammates having lunch all casual and buddying up? Yeah right. You wanted me to see you two together. You wanted me to be jealous."

"It's none of your business what I do with my subs. If I want to eat with him, I will."

Now the way he's talking about North is starting to piss me off. North is mine. He doesn't have the right to talk about him. I'm done with this conversation.

"We were great together," Paul says.

"We were pedestrian at best. I'm leaving."

He doesn't move out of my way. His closeness is cloying. "Come on!"

"I don't know how I can make this any clearer for you, Paul. I'm not interested."

"I don't believe you."

With a grunt, I go to push past him and leave, and he closes his hand around my forearm, circling my wrist. "Hey, Malcolm come on—"

I snatch my arm out of his grip and push him. He stumbles backward and tumbles onto his bed with enough force to make him gasp. But when he looks at me again his eyes are hungry.

"Don't fucking touch me." I turn toward the door, and as I leave, he calls after me, his voice echoing down the hall.

"I know what you're doing with him!"