Page 97 of I’m The Worst

Silence settles in.

My mind spirals. I hate this. The silence. The space between us. The way he touches me and then vanishes.

Hate that I want⁠—

I drag in a breath, trying to stop before I spiral any further. But I can feel it building again. That pressure in my chest. That need to break it, to say something, to⁠—

His fingers brush the back of my thigh.

I suck in a breath.

He hooks the hem of the shirt and drags it up, exposing my skin inch by inch to the cold air.

I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

My heart is pounding so loud that I’m sure he can feel it.

His hand slides under the fabric, palm spreading over my stomach, and before I can react, he’s pulling me back against him.

“Wolff?”

“Go to sleep, solnyshko.”

I should pull away.

I should tell him to stop treating me like this. To stop acting like I’m something to be used whenever he wants. But the second he pulls me closer, my body goes soft against his, tension melting away.

It’s pathetic.

I know it is.

I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes anyway. Fuck it. I’ll let myself pretend he cares.

For a few minutes, it’s quiet again. Then his hand starts moving. Across my ribs, down my stomach, circling my hip with his fingertips.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Touching you.”

Heat creeps up my neck, settling in my cheeks. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

I huff quietly. “Since when?”

“Since I realized it shuts you up.”

“Asshole.”

His hand keeps moving, tracing the line of my waist, thumb brushing lightly over my skin. I turn my head slightly, just enough to see his face in my periphery.

“Why don’t you like being touched?”

His hand stills for a second before he moves again. I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. He keeps tracing small patterns across my bare stomach, goosebumps pebbling my skin from the tender touch.

“What language were you speaking earlier? On the phone.”