Totally Tormented (2 page)

“What?”

“Come. Here.”

“Why?” I was instantly on guard.

He rolled his eyes. “Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“Then tell me why.”

“Lindsay,” he said calmly. “Do you trust me?”

I opened my mouth to say hell no. But something in the way he was looking at me, and the serious tone in his voice, made me think that if I told him I didn’t trust him, he was going to be disappointed. Very disappointed. And I didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Yes,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure it was true. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Then come here.”

I took a step toward him.

He gave a big sigh and then raised his eyes toward the ceiling in a look of exasperation. “How come every time I ask you to come here, you take half of a step?”

“I don’t!” I took another half step toward him.

“I thought you said you trusted me.”

“I do!”

“Then prove it.”

The look he was giving me, like he didn’t think I was going to do it, made me so angry that I pushed myself right up against him. For a moment, I saw the want flash in his eyes, saw it burn so bright that I was sure he was going to have his way with me right there. But then he moved behind me in one fluid movement, pushing his chest up against my back.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered into my ear.

My breath caught in my throat, and I would have thought I stopped breathing altogether except for the fact that my heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of my chest.

I closed my eyes. For a moment, all I could feel was the spray of the water pounding against me. And then, I felt his hands.

He gathered my hair, pulling it behind my shoulders so that it was hanging down my back. And then he started to wash my hair. His touch was soft and gentle, which I hadn’t expected.

He took his time, massaging my scalp and neck. I stayed still under the spray, just enjoying his touch, the way his hands felt on my skin.

When he was done, he leaned in toward my ear. “Turn around,” he whispered, and I did what I was told. I stood under the spray, facing him, until the shampoo washed out of my hair.

“See?” he said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the generic shampoo, or the fact that I’d had to trust him. I shook my head. “No,” I said. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll get you a towel.”

And then he stepped out of the shower.

***

He gave me a towel and one of his t-shirts to wear, and then left the bathroom so I could get dressed. My pink bra and panties were completely soaked, and when I cleared a spot of steam from the mirror, I noticed for the first time that they were almost see-through.

Jesus. I might as well have not been wearing anything. I shook my head, reminding myself that from now on I should make sure to wear dark underwear when I was with Justin. I never knew when I was going to end up without my clothes on.

I hung my wet stuff over the bar in the shower, then pulled on his t-shirt. It hung down to my knees, but I had nothing on underneath it. And I was supposed to sleep in Justin’s bed with him dressed like this? But what else could I do? My only other choice would be to sleep in my clothes.

I towel-dried my hair and then walked back to Justin’s bedroom. He was wearing a pair of gray American Eagle sweatpants and, of course, no shirt. He was sprawled out on his back, flicking through channels on the TV.

“Hey, Pip,” he said when he saw me. His eyes did that thing again – the one where they moved up and down my body, checking me out. The sides of his mouth tugged up into a grin when he was done, like he liked what he saw. I blushed and then climbed into bed with him.

It was warm in the room, but I was cold from the shower, and I shivered as I snuggled up to him. He smelled like soap and shampoo and his sheets were soft. He put his arm around me and I laid my cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

He flicked through the channels lazily, passing by sitcom reruns, infomercials, an Adam Sandler movie, and Sports Center.

“What do you want to watch?” he asked. He was stroking my hair, and I felt so relaxed that I let my eyes close for a moment.

I sat up and propped myself up on his pillow. “Do you think it’s weird that we’ve slept in this bed together and yet we hardly know anything about each other?”

“I know a lot about you.”

“Like what?”

“That you go to school at Cambridge. That you don’t like to do things that are illegal. That you don’t know how to make scrambled eggs.”

I reached out and pushed his shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, reaching up and blocking me. “Careful, I’m wounded.”

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“’Course not.” He said it like the idea was ridiculous.

“Anyway, so do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you think it’s weird that we’ve slept in this bed together and we don’t know that much about each other!”

He sighed, and I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. So I reached out and shut off the TV. “Hey!” he protested. “We were watching that.”

“No, we weren’t.”

“We were about to be.”

“No,
you
were about to be.”

He grinned and rolled over so that he was facing me. The bruise under his eye was turning from yellow to purple. There was an angry red ring around the outside of it, and I knew it had to be painful. A lump bloomed in my throat – I didn’t like thinking about someone hurting him.

“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” I asked, biting my lip.

“I told you, I’ve had worse.”

“When?”

“You really want to talk about that?”

“I guess not.” I let my eyes move down his body, taking in all the bruises.

“Hey,” he said, cupping my chin and tilting it back up so I was forced to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t hurt.”

I shook my head, not understanding. How could this be his life? How could he be okay with the fact that he’d spent the night fighting? Again, I got a weird feeling about his new gym. And again, I knew better than to say anything about it.

“Pip,” he said. “I swear, it doesn’t hurt.”

I nodded, but I felt choked up, like maybe I was going to cry or something, which was ridiculous. He wasn’t a victim. He was doing the same thing to other people.

Justin must have been able to tell that I was getting upset, because he changed the subject. “So what’s your favorite movie?”

“My favorite movie?”

“Yeah. You said we don’t know anything about each other, so let’s go. What’s your favorite movie?”

I thought about it. “Dead Poet’s Society.”

He rolled his eyes. “Depressing.”

“It isn’t!”

“The teacher gets fired at the end, and a dude commits suicide!”

“Yeah, but it’s about facing your fears. The part where Ethan Hawke gets up on his chair at the end is super inspiring.”

“You probably just like it because Ethan Hawke is in it,” he grumbled.

“Eww, no,” I said. “I don’t like that look. I’m more of a Channing Tatum kind of girl.”

“Channing Tatum.” He shook his head. “I’ll fuck that dude up.”

I rolled my eyes. “Favorite food?”

“Lasagna. You?”

“Ice cream. Rocky Road,” I clarified.

“Not frozen yogurt like you were having with Adam?”

“No. Not frozen yogurt like I was having with Adam. In fact, I kind of hate frozen yogurt.”

“Good.”

His hand was on my leg now, his thumb making little circles on my skin. I shivered.

“Wanna get under the covers?” he asked.

I nodded.

He reached over and shut off the light, and we climbed under his comforter. His room was starting to become familiar. I was beginning to feel more at home here than I did in my own dorm.

“Hey,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Where’s Gilbert?”

“Gilbert’s gone.”

“Oh. Is he… I mean, did he…?”

“I don’t know where he went.” He took a deep breath. “He was gone when I got back to the apartment. He disappears a lot, Gil. I used to try to chase him around, but it never worked.”

“Yeah.”

“Still do have to chase him around sometimes, obviously. But in the end, I know he’s going to go off and do whatever he wants.”

There was a silence. I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Favorite color?” he asked.

“Purple. You?”

“Red.”

“Of course.” There was another silence, and for a moment, I just lay there and listened to him breathing. His hand was still on my leg, but now the circles were becoming slower and lazier.

I turned over, and he pulled me close, spooning me. He pushed my hair off my neck and rested his chin on my shoulder. “You comfy?” he murmured into my neck.

“Yes.”

His arms tightened around me. And maybe it was because I knew he was going to be falling asleep soon, or maybe it was because it was dark and I couldn’t see him.

But I decided to ask him one more question.

“Have you ever been in love?”

I felt his body tense. “No.” He hesitated, like maybe he was going to say something else. But then, a second later, he said, “You?”

“No.” I waited for him to ask me something else, to press me, to ask me if I ever wanted to be. But he didn’t.

And after a moment, his breathing grew deeper and more even, and I knew he was asleep. And after another moment, so was I.

***

When I woke up, Justin was already awake.

He was stroking my hair and flipping through the channels.

“Finally,” he teased. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

“How long have you been awake?” I was suddenly panicked, not knowing how long he’d been watching me sleep. Was I drooling?

“Not that long. Only a few minutes.” He turned off the TV and rolled over. He winced.

“What’s wrong?” I asked automatically.

“Nothing.”

“Justin, if you’re –”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just sore, that’s all.” He flipped onto his stomach.

“I probably just need to ice my back.” He turned his head and glanced at me. “Or you could give me a massage.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, and I rolled my eyes.

But inside, I was giddy. I would take an excuse I could to touch him.

I reached out and started to rub his shoulders.

“Unh-huh.” He shook his head. “Get on top of me.”

“What?”

“Get on top of me. On my back.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

He scoffed at the idea. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I swallowed and then climbed on top of him, straddling his back. I wasn’t wearing anything under his t-shirt, and so I pulled it down as best I could. He had sweatpants on, so it wasn’t like we would have been skin to skin, but still.

I started at his shoulders, kneading my palms into his skin. His muscles were tense, and I hated that someone had done that to him. I wondered again if I should say something about his new gym maybe not being the best place for him. But it really wasn’t any of my business.

I stroked him, moving to his neck and letting my hands linger over the place where his hair met his skin. I ran my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

He let out a sigh of pleasure.

My hands dropped to his back and after a few minutes, I could feel his muscles loosening.

Suddenly, he turned over, grabbing my wrists to keep me from falling off of him.

“Justin!” I gasped. But he held me tight.

“Time to do my chest,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“No way.” I tried to move, but he held me close.

“Why not?” he teased. “You afraid?”

“Of what?”

“Of what might happen.” He was serious now, and for the first time ever, I thought maybe I saw a flash of fear in his eyes. Was
he
afraid of what might happen?

But why would he be? He wasn’t inexperienced like I was. So then what was he afraid of?

“No,” I said. “I’m not afraid.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m saying. I must still be woozy from last night.” Something like frustration flashed over his face, and then he was getting up, crossing the room to his dresser, his flirty mood gone. He yanked at his dresser drawer, then pulled out a t-shirt and shoved his arms through the holes.

I wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so upset. I hadn’t done anything. I watched as he picked his phone up off the dresser and checked the screen. He frowned, then punched at the screen, like he was returning a call.

“Hey,” he said when the person answered. “Who’s this? Oh, hey….Yeah, okay.

Yeah. Definitely. Text me the address. Okay. Bye.”

He set his phone back down and turned to me, smiling. “That was my new coach,” he said. “From the Slaughterhouse.”

“From the
what?”

“The Slaughterhouse.”

“The name of your new gym is The Slaughterhouse?” I was dumbfounded. Who the hell thought that was an okay name for a gym?

“Yeah. Anyway, they’re having a party at my coach’s house tonight. In Brookline. And they want me to come.”

“That’s great.” I pulled at the bottom of the t-shirt I was wearing. “Um, do you… I mean, are you sure this is a good gym?”

He got a suspicious look on his face. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, I just… what happened to you last night, it’s kind of…is that normal?”

“Not exactly, but it’s how they do things there. It’s their method of teaching.”

“Okay. It just seems a little harsh, that’s all.”

He turned away from me, and I thought he mumbled something that sounded like,

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He crossed the room then and took my hands in his. “You have to come with me.”

“Where?”

“To the party.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun. I can introduce you to everyone.”

I hesitated. The last time I’d met some of his friends, it hadn’t exactly gone so well. That being said, I didn’t like that he’d just said I didn’t understand something about him or his life. I might have been true, but I didn’t want it to be that way. I wanted to understand him.