Page 79 of Twisted Needs

Parker cups my jaw, squeezing hard, and tilts my head back. I close my hand around his wrist, but I can’t quite decide if I want to push him away or pull him closer.

I need to be locked up.

“You have no idea the lengths I would go through,” Parker says in a false softness. “Anders,” he sighs, blinking and shaking his head. “You have always been mine.”

My breath catches.

His words replay in my mind over and over again like a broken record.

And then his face softens a little, but not in a way that feels sweet. “And I think…I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hold myself back.”

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

I can’t.

I can’t go through the pain all over again just for some scraps of affection.

The only way to get out of this is to rip the bandaid off. I know it’s gonna hurt. I know it’s probably going to drain the life out of me…but I owe it to myself to stand up. I can’t keep letting him get away with doing this to me. At some point, it becomes my fault. I need to stop acting like I’m a fucking bird.

“I guess you’re just gonna have to get over that.” I lower my voice, shoving him away with the tiny ounce of respect I still have for myself. “Because I’m done standing here.” The lie tastes bitter the second it leaves my mouth. “I am done waiting for you.”

CHAPTER 22

I CAN’T BREATHE

ANDERS

Pet’ka

I’m sorry. I was out of line.

Please just come home tonight so I know you’re okay

And please be safe

There is entirely too much happening inside this minivan.

Aviva is squished against my right side in the middle row, half draped over me as she leans forward between the seats. Up front, Malloy has somehow become best friends with our Uber driver. On my left, Lee is drunk enough to be swaying with every turn but still somehow functions better than the rest of us combined. Behind us, Charlie and Fatin have spent the last ten minutes filming TikToks while Vandy sits trapped between them looking like he’s being transported to prison against his will.

“Babe, what the hell is this song?” Aviva snorts. She reaches forward and pokes Malloy’s chin.

The song currently blasting through the speakers sounds like someone recorded farm animals fighting in a Walmart parking lot and remixed it with a Travis Scott song, but apparently Malloy and some of the other guys on the team think it’s the funniest thing in the world. Fucking weirdos.

The Uber driver laughs so hard he has to wipe his eyes.

“Animals Of The Farm,” Malloy answers, reading off his phone. “Classic. A masterpiece, actually.”

“That explains the animal noises,” I mutter.

“Sounds like the kind of shit music my son makes,” the driver says in a thick accent. His name is Raúl, and he’s spent most of the ride alternating between laughing at us and questioning our collective intelligence. I’m his biggest fan.

Raúl glances toward Lee. “Mi hijo es soltero,” he says suggestively. “Es músico.”

Lee immediately straightens like they’re a sleeper agent. “Hostia. Soy lesbiana,” they reply apologetically. "La chica guapa con tetas grandes es mi novia."

Raúl blinks, flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror. “¿En el asiento trasero?”

“Sí, sí.”