Blood Kiss - Ward J. R. - Страница 37
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Pain lanced through her chest as she fell momentarily speechless. And then the only thing that went through her mind was something involving “Fuck” and “You.”
Pushing herself back, she squared her shoulders and walked away from him. When she came up to the door to the corridor, she was surprised to find the thing locked. She hadn’t done that.
Perhaps he had.
Who the hell cared.
As Paradise unlatched things, she glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t pretend to be sophisticated, or worldly about sex, but I know damn well that the need to diminish others when one is threatened is the mark of a coward, not a hero. Have a good rest of the night. I’ll see you tomorrow—if you decide to show up.”
Stepping out, she let the door close behind her and walked off a couple of feet, a couple of yards … halfway back to the gym.
She intended to keep going.
Her feet refused to cover the rest of the distance back to class.
With a curse, she leaned against the concrete wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at the polished pavers that formed the corridor floor … then the inset fluorescent ceiling lights above her … then the doors, the many, many doors. Off in the distance, she heard shouts coming from where the sparring continued. There was also an ambient hum from the HVAC system. And after a moment, her stomach let out a growl, reminding her that the calories she’d taken in at the quick-stop First Meal she’d had were long gone.
That had been her first sexual experience.
And when it had been happening, it had been wondrous, exciting, beyond tantalizing.
Craeg had just ruined all that, though. With only a couple of sentences, he had blown the whole thing up and made her feel ashamed of herself—
“I’m sorry.”
Jerking her head around, she recoiled. “What are you doing out of bed?”
Craeg shuffled out of his room, seeming to rely more on the IV pole than his own legs for ambulation. He was determined to come over to her, however—and God knew he’d already proven he would go until he dropped.
Walking toward him, she put both palms out to stop him. “You need to get back in—”
“Look, I…” He cleared his throat. Scratched under his nose even though there was nothing there. Rubbed his thumb across one eyebrow and then fiddled with his hospital johnny. “I can’t be anyone other than who I am right now. Maybe in a different time, maybe if certain things hadn’t happened … maybe I’d have the energy to try to file down these edges of mine. The problem is, I just don’t have that extra effort in me at the moment—and there’s not a lot of anything warm and fuzzy in here.” He pointed to the center of his chest, his IV line draping across the front of him. “I’m not saying I’m right or that I’m proud of myself. I’m just telling you like it is. And that’s all I can give you—tonight, tomorrow … next week. That’s all I have to offer anybody.”
As he stared down at her, his eyes were steady and grave.
And there was no doubting his somber voice or his carefully chosen words.
In the silence that followed, she thought of the great human writer and orator Maya Angelou’s statement about people: When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.
Or something to that effect.
“If you want a male, go hang out with your boy, Peyton,” he continued. “You’re so spectacular, there’s a chance he’ll end up overriding that dumb glymera stuff. And hey, you wouldn’t have to be a receptionist for the rest of your life. I couldn’t offer you anything close to what he can—even if my personality did a one-eighty.”
As he continued to speak, his words didn’t sink in much. All she was thinking about was how unfair it was that she finally met a male she was attracted to at the precisely wrong time in the precisely wrong context for anything meaningful. And then there was his I-am-an-island stuff. Which she wanted to call bullshit on, but which might, actually, sadly, be the truth.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Thank you for being honest.”
There was an awkward pause—as if he’d expected some kind of protest from her, some indignant marching around, maybe some harsh words.
Then his lids lowered as if he didn’t want her to see what was behind his eyes.
The hand that wasn’t on his IV pole lifted toward her face. But then he dropped it back down and shook his head. “I have a lot of regrets in my life. Next time you wonder whether anyone cares about you … know that you’re on that list.”
Craeg turned away and limped back down to his hospital room.
She watched him until just before he opened the door and disappeared.
Pride made it important for her to go her own way first.
Bracing herself, Paradise headed for the gym, for class, for learning and self-discovery. After all, like him, her future was with the training center. Not some pipe dream with a male stranger that was never going to happen for so many reasons.
Chapter Twenty
Two hours later, Paradise rode a bus back out of the training center. There was only one leaving, as there were just the six of them, Craeg having not been medically cleared to go home.
Looking across the aisle, she met Peyton’s eyes. He had stretched out across a row of seats, his back on the bank of blackened windows, his legs fully extended and crossed at the ankles.
It seemed like a lifetime since they had argued on the way in the night before.
You okay, he mouthed.
She nodded and mouthed back, You?
He shrugged, grimaced as he rearranged himself and closed his lids.
Nobody else was talking much, either.
Several rows in front of them, Boone sat with his head bowed, a set of Beats helmeting his ears, shutting out the world. He didn’t seem to be able to find a song he liked, his thumb hitting the screen of his iPhone every second or two, the covers of albums flashing briefly before they were rejected. Anslam was asleep sitting up across from him. Novo was closest to the driver, staring out the windows through which you could see nothing.
Axe was all the way in the back, keeping to himself.
From time to time, Paradise shifted her body, and found herself pulling a Peyton with the wincing. She was exhausted; she was aching all over; she was worried about what the next night would bring in terms of tests.
She also kept thinking about what had gone down in Craeg’s hospital room. And then what had been said between them out in the corridor.
“Stop it,” she murmured to herself.
It wasn’t like reliving the stuff was going to change the outcome, and if she was honest with herself, she did want that. It would have been amazing to be free to explore that kind of connection.
Not in the cards, though.
Hoping to distract herself, she looked down at the Bally leather satchel she’d checked with a doggen when she’d signed into the program. She remembered exactly what was in it: the protein bars, the extra socks, the change of clothes and underwear, her wallet, phone, a picture of her parents in an old gilt frame. She recalled quite vividly packing all of those things, too—the drawers she had opened in her walk-in closet, the choices she had agonized over, the stuff that she had wanted to bring but decided to leave home.
The disturbing thing … was that none of what was in there felt like hers anymore.
It was more like it was all owned by some kind of little sister or something, some younger relation who looked like her from a distance, but who, up close, was totally different.
Peyton shifted his feet to the floor and shoved his body across the aisle. This time, when he sat next to her, she was grateful.
“You don’t look okay,” he said softly.
The concern threatened the dam that was holding back her emotions, but she kept that wall in place for fear of losing it in front of her fellow classmates.
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