I saw Miller standing in front of the Pruitts’ door. How did he beat us here? God, I didn’t want to go back inside that haunted prison. I also didn’t want to stand here and listen to Matt. My brain was screaming at me to make a run for it. That was my plan all along…to flee. But I’d messed it all up. No, Matt had. He’d ruined everything. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. He’d ruined me.
Kennedy had told me I needed to be brave. But I wasn’t brave. I took a step back and collided with Matt. His arms encircled me and I immediately felt more comforted. But thinking about how he had that effect on me just made me feel claustrophobic. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone. I slipped out of his embrace and for a second I just stood there. I couldn’t run for my freedom. No matter which way I turned there was someone there to stop me. And right now, anything seemed better than standing next to Matt.
“Please just go home,” I said to him.
“Not until you talk to me.”
God, why couldn’t he just respect my decision? Couldn’t he tell that I could barely think right now? Let alone talk to him. I took a deep breath. It didn’t matter, he wouldn’t have a choice once I told Miller to not let him in. I made my way over to Miller and he opened the door to let me in. I’d feel better once I was in my room. The rest of the apartment was too creepy to comfort me. “Take him off my list,” I said to Miller. I didn’t wait for a response. I hurried through the foyer and up the stairs. But still I heard the footsteps behind me. I wished it was a ghost. I’d take the place being haunted over having Matt alone with me in my room. Or Miller, if he was the one following me. I didn’t want to speak to either of them. I didn’t want to see anyone.
I tried to close the door to my bedroom, but two strong hands stopped it.
“Brooklyn, I just need five minutes.”
Matt. “You’ve had plenty of my minutes. I don’t have any more time to waste on you.” I tried to close the door but he was too strong.
“I’ve never wasted a second with you,” he said.
That was certainly poetic, but it was even more false. He didn’t get it. He’d never understand. “Time is limited, Matt! And every time you don’t have my back, that’s time I can never get back.” I’m running out of time. I pictured my mom unconscious on the kitchen floor. I pictured my uncle coughing at the kitchen table. I’d never have enough time.
He pushed the door open hard, knocking me backward. I fell back and landed on my butt.
“Shit,” he said as he reached down to help me up.
I didn’t need his help. I didn’t need anything from him. I pushed his hands away from me.
“Just let me help you up.” He grabbed my bicep when I wouldn’t let him grab my hand.
I could smell the cinnamon on his breath. And feel his fingers digging into my skin. Suddenly all I could think about was being closer to him. I just wanted to feel something. Anything. I grabbed the front of his t-shirt and pulled him toward me.
His lips collided with mine in a frenzy as I pulled him onto the floor with me. He was pissed. I was furious. And for some reason, for a few heartbeats, this made it better. I was sick of feeling sad and angry and alone. Or worse, nothing at all. I needed this. I needed him.
His fingers slid ever so slightly underneath the bottom of my sweater, the pads of his fingertips warm against my skin. We’d been in this position dozens of times. And it always stopped here. But today I couldn’t bear the thought of stopping. And his hands were higher than usual because my sweater was cropped short. I wanted his hand to slide up higher. I shifted beneath him. No, I wanted his hand to slide lower. So much lower. I needed more. I just needed something to make me feel like I wasn’t drowning. And I knew he had the power to do that. I knew he could make me forget.
I ran my hand down the front of his shirt until I reached the waistline of his jeans. All I could think about was touching him. And him touching me. My fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans.
He grabbed my hands and lifted them above my head, pinning them to the carpet. “Not like this,” he said.
“We can move to the bed…”
“You’re high, Brooklyn.” He was staring at me like I was lost. It didn’t matter if I was. I just wanted him to stop looking at me like that.
“I know what I’m doing,” I said. I tilted my hips and I could feel him pressed against me. I knew that he wanted this too. The evidence was clear enough.