Page 27 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)
“I think you like the idea of me in your room,” he says. “Isn’t that right?”
“You and your fucking mind games.” I shake my head. “Isn’t tormenting me in school enough?”
He’s solemn when he answers, “No.”
“No?”
“It’s not enough. Don’t think it ever will be.”
I let my head fall back. His eyes are dark, his face in shadow from the lamp behind us. “Why?”
His lips ghost along the shell of my ear. “Because you fucking deserve it.”
He takes a step back, then another. He opens my window and climbs out, vanishing down the side of the house. I creep toward the window and watch him jog across the front lawn, to his car parked in the street. Once he’s gone, I close and lock my window.
I go to my dresser and down the water, inexplicably dry-mouthed. My head is spinning. He knows where I live. Is that why he let me walk home? Because he knew it would take me ten minutes at the most?
Or maybe he followed me.
It’s only nine. I’m sure Riley probably isn’t asleep…
I grab my phone and call her, hiding under the covers.
“Yo, you pulled a vanishing act today,” she says.
“Caleb took me…” I clear my throat. “Home.”
“Did he?”
Kind of.
“He just showed up in my room,” I confess. “And he’s scary and attractive and mean, and I don’t know what to do.”
She coughs. “Excuse me? I mean, I knew he’s always watching you at school, but…”
“I asked why he couldn’t just torment me at school,” I say. “And he said it wasn’t enough.”
“Girl. I think he likes you.”
“Doubt it.”
“Guys in kindergarten pull a girl’s hair if he likes her. Clearly Caleb never grew up.”
I snort. “Riley. Are you listening to yourself?”
“I’m just saying, he’s pretty chill with everyone except for you. In like a broody sex-god type of way, you know?”
I roll onto my back. If I close my eyes, I can picture how his body feels against mine.
I keep my eyes wide open, staring into the dark. “I hate him. I hate how he looks at me and how he makes me feel. God, I’ve never felt such…” Fury. The same I saw reflected in his eyes, mirrored back at me. And on top of that, an aching helplessness.
I can’t stop him.
I can’t control him.
“What am I supposed to do?”
She sighs. “He’s the bully. You’re the victim.”