Page 28 of Touch of Hate
I’m not actively avoiding making friends. But more like I don’t have it in me to put myself out there. What’s the point of putting in the effort of getting to know someone if they can walk away without a word?
Why open up and make myself vulnerable when I’m clearly not worth sticking around for?
At times like this, it’s enough to take my breath away. When the thought of Ren makes me want to double over and clutch my stomach since I’d swear somebody kicked me while wearing a pair of steel-toed boots.
That’s nothing compared to the very real ache spreading through my chest when I see one couple after another dancing, making out, and clinging to each other. Why can’t I be one of them? Why can’t my life have that?
Is something so wrong with me? Am I that unlovable?
My chin trembles, and tears threaten to blur my vision before I blink them away. It’s all so unfair.
I miss him so much.
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve asked myself what it would be like to have him with me. Sitting in class, going to a movie, hanging out at home. It doesn’t have to be anything special. His presence is what would make me feel settled.
What I wouldn’t give for his presence now. It’s getting a little too crowded, and my chest is tighter every time somebody jostles me—which is, like, every three seconds. At this rate, I won’t make it until midnight before my brain shuts down from lack of oxygen.
Where is Tessa? Shit, I lost sight of her, and there are so many moving bodies, enough that it feels like walls closing in on all sides. They’re going to crush me—there’s not so much as a gap to escape through.
Breathe. In. Out.
This has to stop. It’s one thing for anxiety to creep in while I’m alone, where no one will see and no one can take advantage if I get woozy. Why don’t I paint the word victim across my ass, passing out in the middle of a crowded college party?
You’re a Rossi, dammit. Get your shit together.
If only it were that easy. If only I had my brother’s strength. The strength Ren always swore I possessed.
Panic begins to bloom in my chest, and I look around, the dim lighting and endless crush of bodies making it tough to catch sight of Tessa. Where did she go? I call her name, but the damn music instantly swallows up the sound. It’s pounding in my head, threatening to cleave my skull in two.
It’s like living in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. Everywhere I turn, there are more bodies, more people drinking, laughing, dancing, grinding, and making out. They loom over me like blank-faced ghouls, their faces all but obliterated in the darkness, in my confusion.
“Tessa…” I gasp, struggling to sip in enough air through my tight throat so I don’t pass out and get trampled. “Ren…”
I need air. Fresh air. Now. Nothing in the world matters more than getting out of this house. Salvation is outside, and it’s the only hope I can cling to as I throw elbows in an attempt to break out of the tight clutch of costumed bodies trapping me in place.
“Watch it!” a girl shouts close to my face when I hit her ribs. I’d apologize but fuck her. I’m dying. I need to get out of here.
Somebody shoves me hard from behind, and my panic turns to full terror. I barely manage to stay on my feet and avoid getting trampled the way my overworked brain is so sure will happen.
The only reason I don’t drop to my knees is the very tall, very hard body I fall against. A body in a black T-shirt and jeans. It absorbs my weight without so much as flinching.
Not that there’s any time to relax against the broad, firm chest since a pair of large hands close around my biceps and hold on tighter than necessary. Possessively tight. Well, shit. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
My head snaps up, and I’m prepared to thank whoever this is in hopes they’ll let me go, but the fact that I’m looking into an animal mask rather than a normal human face only adds to the sense of foreboding and fear. It takes a moment to identify that it’s a wolf, complete with pointy ears and fake fur. The eyes are black, making it impossible to see the eyes of the person beneath.
“I have to go.” I don’t know if he hears me or not. I can’t hear myself over the cacophony, no matter how much force I put into my screaming. I won’t be able to speak in the morning, and I’m sure I’ll be deaf for a while, too.
I’ve been to arena concerts with my brother that weren’t this loud.
The stranger’s grip tightens, and he begins moving through the crowd much easier than I did, pushing me before him like the blade in front of a snowplow, pushing me back in the direction I just came until he’s wedged me into a dark corner of the room.
“What are you doing?” I shout, but the sound is swallowed up before it gets anywhere. He’s going to do with me what he wants.
And nobody even notices. The bodies close in again as soon as we pass them. It’s a heavy realization that nobody cares. Even Tessa didn’t see us—I can’t see around him and don’t know where she is. Panic bubbles out of me.
I can’t see her, which means she can’t see me, either. This guy is way too big, blocking me from everybody else.
My insides are churning, my body’s shaking, and I’m pretty sure this is what they call fight-or-flight, but it feels like a heart attack. My chest. It hurts so much. Am I dying?