When I step out of the bedroom, the realization hits me. I can’t forget that I’m the one in control and that no matter what we share or do together, nothing will change the fact that we’re still enemies.
34
ASPEN
A week passes without any interaction from Quinton. He makes good on his end of the bargain, having the laundry services deliver my clean clothes right to my door. Then someone, probably the janitor, comes by and fixes the sink one day while I’m at class.
All these things make being here a little more bearable.
There was no way for me to lie to myself. He was helping me, and I hated it, but more than anything, I hated that I needed his help. Without him, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stay here, and with my mom’s warning of how unsafe it was outside of Corium looming over my head, I couldn’t exactly leave. It was to endure hell here or risk death out there. Sometimes, death looked like a better option.
A loud knocking drags me from my thoughts, and I look up from the book in my hand. The knocking means it’s not Quinton, and as wary of that as I should be, I decide to climb off the bed and answer the door anyway.
As soon as I pull the door open and see who is on the other side, I consider slamming the door in his face.
“You going to let me in?” Quinton questions, waving a bottle of wine in my face and holding two paper cups in his other hand.
“Why did you knock when you have a key to get in?” My defenses are up, especially with his surprise knocking and the bottle of wine in his hand. He’s insane if he thinks I’m going to take one sip of that alcohol in his presence.
His lips tip up at the sides. “I like to keep things interesting.”
I try to ignore the way he looks, just standing there leaning against the doorjamb so casually in his jeans and black T-shirt. The smell of cedar and lemon fills my lungs as I breathe him in, and a warmth settles deep in my belly. No. Do not fall into his web.
“No,” I reply and shake my head as if I’m trying to wake myself up from this never-ending nightmare.
“No, what?”
“No, you cannot come in.”
The smirk vanishes from his face, and something dark and sinister takes over his features. “That’d be a fine response if I was asking, but it’s a new week, and a new week means I’m allowed one hour of your time, where you do as I say, no matter what.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And what is it that you want?”
“For us to have a glass of wine together.” His reply is dry, honest, and I don’t like it. Not even a little bit, but what can I do? Deny him? No. We have a deal, and as badly as I want to tell him he can shove that bottle of wine up his ass, I don’t.
“Fine, but one drink, and that’s it.”
Quinton shoves past me and into the bedroom while I shut the door, closing us inside. We’ve been alone inside this room many times, but tonight feels different. I can’t pinpoint in what way, but I feel it in my bones. Something bad is going to happen.
Placing the two paper cups on my desk, Quinton pours us each a glass and passes me a cup. His fingers briefly touch mine, and a bolt of lightning zings through me.
“Cheers.” He smirks and brings the class to his lips, taking a gulp of the red liquid.
I peer down into my cup, trying to build the courage up to take a drink. Quinton’s piercing stare doesn’t help matters.
“Drink it. Or the deal is off, and you can go back to fending for yourself.” His spiteful words cause me to bring the cup to my lips, and I gulp the red liquid down, the bitter tang hits my taste buds, and my lips pucker.
“Good, isn’t it?”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Actually, no. It’s terrible.”
“Too bad, keep drinking.”
“I agreed to one drink.”
He takes a threatening step toward me, and I can feel his body heat rolling off him and slamming into me. “If I were you, I would just keep drinking. You never know what I have in store for you tonight.”
The warning is clear. He has something planned, something that I’m going to need alcohol to get through. I try not to let the dreadful thoughts take root, but it’s harder than you think when you’re trapped in a room with your worst nightmare.
My fear of what might happen next causes me to take another gulp of wine, and I empty the glass, setting it back down on my desk.