Page 4 of Brutal Titan

Elliot

Every time I think I have a handle on myself, something grips ahold of me. This time I swear I can smell her enticing perfume lingering on me—which is bullshit. It’s not that strong on her, yet the smell of it overpowers my senses as I struggle to force her out of my head again. I thought pushing her off my lap was hard, and it was. Nearly as hard as my dick is just thinking about her straddling me on my bed. Shit.

It’s been at least a few hours since then and I haven’t seen her since she was in the hallway with Dipshit. Gripping the glass bottle, I lean back, taking a swig of whiskey. I don’t want to get plastered because I don’t think I’ll be able to resist crawling into bed next to her—if that’s where she is—because even though I shouldn’t, I’m still watching for her. Another wave of temptation floats through the air as I groan, wanting to bury my face in her red hair while my dick is buried inside her.

“What’s the matter?” Asher asks, snapping me out of my vivid fantasies.

Fantasy. That is all it will ever be. The face of my best friend is one of the many reminders why it has to stay that way.

“Nothing, man. I’m just done for the night.” Usually, I’d wait for all these peckerheads to leave or at least pass out wherever they land, but I’ve had enough for tonight. I need to go shower and change clothes. “Don’t have too much fun.”

Asher gives me a nod, though he probably isn’t going to since he seems just as over this party as I am. At first, I’d been concerned he’d gotten wind of me and Victoria. Between the foolish run in this morning at their house and the disaster that had taken place here tonight, I’m thankful he isn’t aware of either because I’m almost certain I’ll have a fist to the face—or at least a kick to the balls—when he finds out. If not worse. I could deal with either of those two physical outcomes, what I couldn’t deal with is losing my best friend. We’ve been inseparable since we were kids, helping each other with the shit that is our lives. It may look all pretty and shiny from the outside—fancy house, expensive cars—but all of it is a pretty mask for dark secrets that neither of us want to deal with.

I plaster on my bright party-host smile as I make my way through the house, heading for the staircase. When I see Grant, I automatically look past him for Victoria, then cuss at myself. She has me pussy whipped, and I haven’t even touched the damn thing.

Grant is scanning the room, and spotting me, he makes his way over. A menacing grin covers his face as he speaks, holding up his hand, a pair of sandals dangling. “Just who I was looking for. Victoria left these in the guesthouse.”

What. The. Fuck? It’s not like she can’t screw someone else—even if the thought makes me want to put my fist through Grant’s smiling face, but why would she be somewhere that is off-limits with this dumbass? He would only be searching me out to inform me of exactly where she’d left her shoes for one reason—he knows. Whether she told him or he put the details together for himself, he definitely knows. I just want the image of them together—or her with anyone else but me—out of my mind. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

His grin grows, even though I didn’t think it was possible, and he winks, dropping her shoes at my feet. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Instinctively, I lurch forward but he promptly steps back. Pointing at me with a callous smirk, he quickly makes his way to the door, stepping out and slamming it behind him.

Yep. He’d wanted a furious reaction and he got just that. What I’d gotten was confirmation that I can’t trust myself when it comes to her, which is reiterated as I snatch her shoes off the floor, hurrying upstairs. Stopping in front of the bedroom door that I hope she is and isn’t behind all in the same moment, my fist bangs on the surface in one swift rap before I reach for the doorknob. Turning it and finding it locked, I yell for her to open the door. I continue banging on the door until it swings open, revealing shocked emerald-green eyes. She registers me standing there and relaxes, looking to me with a blank stare. Unamused. Uninterested. Has she really flipped off her whatever the hell this is between us so easily?

“What do you want?” Her words aren’t laced with anger as they were earlier but rather exhaustion, and I don’t want to think why that is.

“Forget something out in the guesthouse?” Bitterness is evident as I hold up the stupid shoes that I couldn’t care less about returning to her. “Grant made sure to give them to me.”

There’s a look of concern or maybe shock as she eyes the sandals. “I … uh—”

Stumbling over her words pisses me off more than just outright saying it. “I knew you were desperate, but I didn’t think you were that far gone … but I guess you were pretty hard up after you tried to ride my dick.”

Narrowing her eyes, she glares at me with more contempt than normal, and that’s usually a shit ton. “Fuck you.” She moves to close the door but I step forward, forcing it open enough to slip inside the dark room, closing it behind me.

“How long did you wait? One minute, maybe five, tops?”

“Seriously?” she asks shaking her head as she rubs her fingers over her eyes before looking back to me. “You’re unbelievable. You tossed me away again. Told me to get away from you. Here you are now, assuming you know what happened when you don’t know shit about it. Not that it’s any of your concern, but I am a desperate bitch, so it shouldn’t be all that surprising right?”

The anger slips from her posture as she wretchedly makes her way back to the bed, crawling under the covers and turning her back to me. She’s completely dismissed me, though I stand there still raging on the inside. I want her to argue with me. I want her to yell at me so I can yell back, inflict the rage on her rather than feel the demons raging inside me, begging to escape. Clearly, this is another reason to stay far away from her, but I fucking can’t. Slinging the shoes across the room, they crash into the wall, startling her as she flinches. All too quickly, she relaxes once again, not looking my way or saying a single word.

“Yep. That’s right.”

“Just get out.” Her defeated tone slices through my anger. Something is off.

Cussing under my breath I fall even deeper under her absurd spell. “Victoria, I—”

She sits up in the bed, speaking in an unusually low, calm tone. “Leave. I have nothing to say or explain to you.”

“I wish I could explain it,” I whisper.

Her eyes clench shut as she shakes her head. “You already have—right after you flung me to the floor.” She slowly lies back down, resuming her dismissive position of turning her back to me.

No, I haven’t. There’re no words that could explain or excuse, and I keep managing to make things worse. Why do I keep hurting the one person I want to crawl inside of and bury myself in? The few seconds I’ve let my guard down and felt how it could be, only made me crave her more, wanting to drown in the feeling of us, forgetting all the other bullshit in my life. But I can’t.

Leaving is the last thing I want to do, but I know it’s best for her and me. This is one of those moments that scares me most because I don’t want to crawl into bed beside her to fulfill my lustful fantasies, I want to comfort her, make her feel safe—or whatever it is that she needs from me—but I can’t and won’t because in the end it would be bad for both of us. Lethargically moving backwards to the door, I finally pry my eyes away from her. I hesitate for a moment before jerking it open, upset with myself for showing her how much she drives me crazy and for her not giving a shit as she does so. But it doesn’t matter. Eventually, she will leave me too.

The door clicks shut and my shoulder blades press into it. My head falls back as I stand in the hallway, wanting to be anywhere else and feeling any other way than I do in the moment. The lock clicks, the latch making a soft noise as I realize she’s locked the door. Again. She never locks the door. She’s stayed here as much as she has at her own house, always tagging along with her brother and I as kids and staying for parties as we got older. I can’t recall one time when she locked the door, and for some reason, I know without a doubt it isn’t me she’s wanting to keep out—even if she should. Hopefully I’m overthinking, but there’s an inkling that something happened, and it wasn’t what I’d originally thought. Her words ring in my head about me not knowing what happened tonight. It’s pointless to try and find out right now because she’s more than done with me, and I’m done with this hellish day that doesn’t seem to want to end.

Shoving off the door, I know her well enough to know I won’t be getting any answers, so I head straight for the shower. I know she’s crawled under my skin, embedded herself deep enough that there’s nothing I can do to remove her, but I have to try. In the same breath that I’d give to escape this desperate desire for her, I long to keep it deep-seated inside of me. Even if she doesn’t belong to me, that’s where I want her to remain—with me.