Obsessed by Ever Lilac

 

 

 

9

 

 

Amber

 

He’s different now, he’s changed.We’ve decided to walk the long way home and he reached for my hand and I didn’t pull away. Maybe I should have. I don’t know what happened to him tonight.

His face looked like it belonged to someone else. I saw it the first time when he ambushed me in the bathroom at the concert. Only a flicker. I told myself it was nothing.

Then it came back again with full force as he attacked Davidos. His eyes reminded me of a shark.

Dead. Predatory. Territorial.

I shiver as I walk next to him and he tenses, looking down at me. He looks watchful, like he’s waiting for me to blow up or have a big reaction. But instead I’m just confused. He mistakes my shivering for me being chilly and brushes my arms with his hand.

“Better?”

Ruthless sometimes and considerate at other times. Is it any strange that he sometimes puzzles me?

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I feel like everything has changed.”

He withdraws his hand, his lips pinching and he rubs his cracked knuckles with his fingers. “Between you and me?”

It’s clear that he doesn’t want there to be a rift between us. No matter how big or small. His voice sounds like he has barbed wire in his throat. Like he’s in pain.

I don’t want him to be like that but what he did tonight freaked me out. It horrified me and I should probably put an end to our relationship, or at least put some space between us and yet my hand keeps clutching around Stan’s, like I’m scared of losing him.

And I am. I don’t know what’s happening to me. But I know that Stan is the one responsible. He has done something to me.

Gautier snarled at me to break up with Stan. His request made my head spin. A life without Stan? A life where he doesn’t look at me with those eyes of his.

That look that makes me feel like I’m the center of his universe. Like everything he feels revolves around me.

Just the thought made me panicky. Frantic. I wouldn’t be able to handle Stan being gone.

“You’re the most important thing in the world to me,” Stan says, his voice grave. “You understand why I can’t let anyone touch you?”

The trees bristle in the soft night wind and I shiver again, vaguely remembering in the back of mind that I didn’t get any roses sent to me tonight from The Admirer. I return my focus to Stan and the streetlights highlight his face and everything about him looks sharper. Bigger. Vicious.

“But I don’t understand.” I bite my lip. “He was there representing a record label. And all he did was place his hand on my back...”

“He stroked you,” Stan says between his teeth, not hearing me. “Like you’re his animal and not mine.”

“It was just a friendly touch. And you beat him up for it.”

A slight sneer grazes his mouth and he stretches his neck from side to side from tension. “I know. I held back. I wanted to kill him.”

Gasping, my eyes turn shimmery as I look up at Stan and despite me being in heels, he’s so tall that I have to crank my head. He’s always so patient with me, patient with everything and I have no idea where this sudden aggression is coming from.

“I don’t believe you. You’re not like that.”

“Wrong. I am exactly like that. If not worse.”

The words come out fast. Sharp. Like they’re truthful. Anger flares in me and I jerk my hand back, causing Stan to whirl around so fast that I don’t even have a chance to blink.

“What is it?” he asks, his eyes tightening. “Don’t you want to hold my hand anymore, unless I’m your perfect, well trained little Stan?”

Gasping, I look at him with wide eyes. Perfect? Is that what he thinks I want from him? Wrapping my arms around me, I murmur, “It’s the heels. They’re hurting me.”

That fervent expression on his face disappears and his eyes turn tender. He takes a step closer to me, then lifts me up on his back, his hands under my knees, my chin resting on his shoulder.

He smells so good. Familiar and exotic to me at the same time. We mold ourselves around each other as always. Fitting perfectly even after a heated argument, like our bodies know better than we do that we shouldn’t let anything come between us.

“Aren’t I heavy?” I whisper and his lips pull to the side, making him look charming. But I think I’ve learned by now that some Prince Charming’s don’t always have a dragon to slay on the outside. Sometimes that dragon is on the inside.

“Even if you were, I’d still carry you.”

Of course he would respond that way. Typical Stan to never make me feel bad about myself. And he’s carrying me like I’m light as a breeze, even though we’re moving up a steep street. Another man would have at least grunted by now. But not Stan.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for me?”

His grip around me tightens, like he isn’t too happy about where this conversation is going.

“Let you go.”

His answer sounds like it’s been formed in steel and fire. I swallow.

“You would if I asked you to.”

Underneath me, I feel him tense like he isn’t so sure of that and he slightly turns his head to the side, raising a brow in question.

“Would I?”

“I think you would,” I say, my voice suddenly trembling. “It’s not like you would drag me down to the basement and chain me there.”

Silence.

“Stan?” I say, tugging at him a little but I can’t see his face.

“What is it?”

“Did you hear what I said? You’re supposed to protest.” Vehemently so.

“Why are you asking me that stuff? Do you expect me to hurt you just because you saw me throw a simple punch?”

“Simple? You practically busted his whole face. And why can’t you just answer me?”

“I don’t like stupid questions.”

I twitch in annoyance at his uncompromising ways. “Put me down now.”

“Quiet.”

Sighing in exasperation, I place my chin on his shoulder again and he gives my leg a squeeze. He thinks the conversation is over. It’s not. I’m not letting him get away with it this easily. He doesn’t put me down until we’re standing on the porch and we walk into our dark house.

I turn on the switch and light flares. Getting out of my shoes and hanging up my satin coat, I creep over the carpet when I feel Stan’s hands around my waist.

His mouth is on my neck in an instance. “He touched you,” he murmurs heatedly, “I keep seeing him doing it over and over in my head. Inhaling you, putting his filthy hands on you...”

My pulse starts beating as always when my body feels him tracing it.

“Don’t torture yourself.” Our mouths meet, causing lust to prickle me from top to bottom. “It’s not worth it.”

“If he’d put a wedge between us I would have to walk straight out of that door and do something about it.”

My eyes flare in amazement. “T...there’s no wedge.”

“Good,” he rasps, “good for him.”

“But...” I say, wiggling out of his arms and it’s not the easiest thing in the world, “we still have to talk.”

“I can think of other things I want to do right now, other than talk.” He reaches for me, about to snatch me back to his chest but I jump out of his way.

“Let’s go sit in the living room,” I say and his eyes darken like he doesn’t want to do this. I pounce down on the couch but he doesn’t join me. He doesn’t even lean against the doorway.

Doesn’t even pretend to be relaxed, but stands as if on guard with his legs wide apart and his broad shouldered frame taking up much of the space.

“What happened tonight....” I try to find the right words, but then I just end up blurting, “I didn’t like it.”

He crosses his strong arms. “Noted.”

Inhaling, I cross my legs. “I need to know that you won’t do it again. That you won’t hurt someone just because they touch me, or stand too close to me. And you won’t, right?”

“I will. If they try to lay claim on you, then they only have themselves to blame.”

My mouth drops and I gawk. “He came from a record label!”

“Don’t care if he descended down from heaven itself. He touched you.”

He’s not budging. His mind is made up. Then Stan’s eyes narrow. “Why do you care so much about Davidos?”

I jerk. “What?”

“Do you have feelings for him?” Stan walks over to me, gently clasping my chin. “Do you? Do you daydream about Davidos signing you, making you a star and you then eagerly giving your body to him when he wants something in return?”

The thought alone is revolting and makes my stomach turn. Why would Stan even think that? There’s nobody for me but him.

Shaking my head I murmur, “I only have feelings for you.”

That seems to compose him. An angelic smile graces his face and it almost makes me gasp. He’s almost too bright to look at like this. Pure goodness shines out of his eyes. Tenderness. Love.

I swallow. Underneath all his flaws, there’s so much light in him. Light that I sometimes feel like I’m the only who can see it. Like I’m the only one he shows it to.

“You need to know that,” I add. “I only want you.”

He closes those eyes, his mouth moving in a lopsided smile that makes me feel like he’s a wild creature who’s just rolled over to show me his underbelly. He’s not like this around other people, he’s only vulnerable with me.

“There’s something I want to ask you,” I say as he opens his eyes and removes his hand from my face.

“Ask me anything.”

I’m not so sure he will like this and I grab a pillow, hugging it.

“Gina was pretty worried about what happened tonight,” I say slowly. “Hysterical almost. She begged me to sleep over at her house and I’m thinking I should, just to calm her down...”

I trail off when Stan freezes and I inspect him a little closer. He’s not blinking and it seems as if time has stopped. I’m not even sure his heart is still beating. He doesn’t even act like he has a pulse anymore and it worries me.

“Stan?”

His mouth moves but his eyes are still immoveable. “You said there wasn’t a wedge.”

The energy around him is rancorous, making my body quake. I take his hand but it doesn’t seem to help. He’s definitely not taking this well, making me regret I even said anything in the first place.

“There isn’t. It’s just over the night, I’d be back in the morning.”

The words do nothing to assure him and the skin over his handsome features tightens, his mouth moving in a scorn.

“In a house without me? In a house where Gina’s husband lives?”

Lifting his head, his face moves in a grimace, the veins on his neck protruding and he looks like he’s in deep agony.

“What is going on with you?” I say. I ask that because he’s gone ashen in the face, his whole body trembling painstakingly.

“Is this your way of trying to escape me. Because I fucked up? Because I made a mistake? Because you can’t handle anything else than a white knight in a shining armor?”

“What...no...ah!” I let out a choked shriek when a deep convulsion goes through his body, his eyes glazing over. “Stan, please sit down.” He allows me to pull him down and I move to the floor, crouching by his legs.

His fists are clenching on his knees, his skin is clammy to my touch and the shaking in his body increases so much, that it’s freaking me out.

“Stan,” I say, turning teary, “please I’m not trying to escape you. Don’t do this to yourself.”

But it’s like he can’t control it, his body seeming to shoot with too much adrenaline and I raise my hand, stroking his jawline. His reaction is so strong that it takes him a while to realize that I’m touching him.

“I’m all yours. Always. I’ll always be yours.” I lick my lips. “No matter what.”

“No matter what?” he asks with a clenched teeth and I nod frantically. “Even when it’s not picture-perfect?”

Swallowing I nod again, stroking his arm, waiting for his tremors to disappear and when they finally do, I draw a sigh of relief. His reaction was so powerful. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looked like he was being torn up from the inside.

My heart breaks for him. Is that how intensely he feels about me? On that level?

“I don’t want you to be against me,” he says in a raspy voice, his eyes carefully going to mine. “Or us.”

“I’m not against you,” I whisper, “or us.”

He nods brushing his hair away from his face, inhaling deeply and tries a smile but it comes out crooked. “I should probably go have a shower. Cool down.”

“Okay,” I murmur, my mind spinning and I feel a little raw. His reaction seems to have been burned into my mind and my heart doesn’t feel like it’s my heart anymore.

It’s his. Every part of it and I already know it might be a dangerous thing to hand it over to someone like Stan. But I can’t help it. It’s already too late.