Page 28 of Chasing After You (Twisted Desires #3)

Josh

“Feeling okay?” Dorian asked from the doorway.

“Yeah.” I didn’t look up at him, keeping my eyes forward, locked on the TV screen in front of my bed.

The low chatter from the game show I was watching filled the uncomfortable silence. Dorian had become increasingly anxious ever since this morning. I could tell in the careful, soft way he spoke, the shuffling feet, and the near-constant questions about how I was feeling.

I was at a loss for what to do.

I hated seeing him like this, but on the other hand, he deserved the cold shoulder I’d been giving him. He had lulled me into a false sense of security, and immediately ripped it away.

“Okay…” he said dejectedly. “Just text or yell if you need anything. I’ll be just down the hall.” His footsteps receded.

“Dori,” I called. The footsteps paused, then quickly returned to the doorway.

“Yes?” he asked with an almost child-like excitement, like a kid who was waiting for his parents to unground him.

“I just wanted to ask if you could close the door, please?”

His disappointment permeated the air, making the older brother in me want to apologize and make him feel better. But, for right now, I needed to try my best to ignore that and focus on myself.

“‘Course,” he sighed, pulling the door shut and leaving me alone with my tangled thoughts.

He’d already apologized countless times, claiming he had lost control. I didn’t think that was true, and I also didn’t think he was actually sorry. It felt less like he thought his actions were wrong, and more like he was saying sorry just to regain my affection.

There was something seriously wrong with my little brother, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it.

I mean… there was certainly something wrong with me as well.

I’d set a horrible example by forgiving him almost instantly for the whole stalking thing. He probably saw me as a pushover. I was sure that his anxiety today was because he’d assumed I would just let him get away with what he did, and now I was acting differently than planned.

I wasn’t as mad as I should’ve been. I was more confused. I couldn’t wrap my head around what he’d done. It didn’t make any sense.

The distance I was keeping now served both as a way for me to think through things without his influence and to punish him for doing something really morally fucked up.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t thrown a tantrum yet, which was great. Taking the spoiled kid’s favorite toy away typically didn’t go over well, so I was secretly a little proud of him for how he was handling it. He was giving me space, just as I’d wanted.

I tried to keep my attention on the screen, but the show felt too loud and too fake. People were shouting answers and laughing like everything made sense. It didn’t.

I turned the volume down until their voices were barely a murmur.

The quiet that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy, making it hard to breathe.

I continued to stare at the TV anyway, arms crossed over my chest, legs drawn up beneath the blanket like I could protect my core from the cold creeping in. Not the literal cold. The other kind—the kind that seeps in when someone close to you betrays your trust in a way you didn’t see coming.

I didn’t want to think about how good it had felt.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

It hadn’t felt bad. I kind of wish it had, that way I wouldn’t have been so confused.

The logical part of my brain screamed that it should have been horrible and traumatizing and wrong, wrong, wrong . That I should have been furious, panicked, scared out of my mind. And I had been, for maybe a minute. But then I’d just… folded.

Like always.

Maybe I was more fucked up than I thought.

I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to ground myself. The guilt was gnawing at me from every angle. For feeling betrayed. For not feeling betrayed enough . For letting him get close to me again. For missing the sound of his voice, even now. For wanting to get out of this bed and crawl into his.

I glanced at the door, half expecting to see his shadow underneath it, waiting for a signal that it was okay to come back in.

He wasn’t there.

Good. That meant he was taking this seriously.

I’d asked for space, and he was giving it to me.

So why did it feel like the distance was ripping me in half?

I didn’t want to forgive him. Not yet. Not when I still couldn’t wrap my head around how easily he’d slipped something into my drink. How casual he’d made it all seem. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he knew what I needed more than I did.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because when I thought about it honestly, painfully, I couldn’t help but wonder… what if he was right?

What if the part of me that was still mad was the same part that didn’t know how to accept being loved in the first place?

I shoved the covers down and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling restless and hot. The air in the room felt too thick, as if it were pressing against my skin.

I needed water.

Or a distraction.

Or Dorian.

No. No, not Dorian. Not… not yet.

He’d drugged me. That wasn’t a misunderstanding. That wasn’t a gray area. He’d done something without my consent right after giving me a damn safe word.

I hated how much I wanted to open the door.

I felt like I needed advice.

Luckily for me, my best friend’s partners were psychopaths.

Yeah, real lucky.

Me:

911, need to talk.

Oliver:

You okay??? I’m kind of in the middle of something, but I can step out if you need

to call.

I took a deep breath and typed out the gist of what had happened. I didn’t want to bother him by calling.

Me:

So, long story short, I had sex with Dorian last night and it was really great, but

then he roofied me and fucked me with a dildo for like 8 hours straight, and that

wasn’t cool.

My phone buzzed, lighting up with an incoming call from Oliver. I quickly tapped the button to answer, a little upset about interrupting whatever it was that he was busy with.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi? Motherfucking hi , Josh? I don’t know why both of my best friends insist on dropping the most insane shit over text,” Oliver scolded, albeit quietly. I picked up on what sounded like muffled screaming and the twins’ laughter in the background.

“Are you… are you killing someone right now?” I asked, temporarily distracted from my own crisis.

He scoffed, “Of course not.” Pause. “Well, I’m not.”

“We don’t need to talk, I can just text you.”

“There’s no way I’m answering that cesspool of a text. He roofied you? I knew he was bad news.”

“He’s not bad… he just did a bad thing,” I mumbled into the speaker.

Oliver sighed, pity clear in his voice, “Oh, honey… What did you want advice on?”

“It’s obvious that he doesn’t feel like he did anything wrong, so I’ve been sitting in my room the whole day trying to figure out what to do.

I feel like he needs to be punished so that he doesn’t do it again, but how am I supposed to punish someone who feels like they didn’t do anything that warrants punishment? ” I rubbed at my aching temples.

“I… don’t think I’m the best person to give you advice.”

“Please, Ollie,” I begged.

“My men do what they want. If I tried to discipline them, they’d laugh and think I was trying to be cute,” he grumbled into the phone.

“So do I just let it go?” That felt wrong.

“No, I just… Let me give you Lane’s number. Call him and see if Greyson will talk to you.”

“Why Greyson?” I asked.

“He’s a therapist, remember? He’s crazy, and I don’t love him, but he probably could give you real advice. No, you’ll ruin those shoes!” he yelled, presumably to Hayes or Hudson.

“Okay, I’ll call him.”

“Good. I’ll text you Lane’s number. I need to go, but please keep me updated. I love you. I can love my friends! It’s platonic! Gotta go, I’ll talk to you later. ”

Soon after hanging up, my phone chimed with a text notification. I tapped on Lane’s number and waited as the call connected.

“Who is this?” A deep voice answered, its gruff tone conveying displeasure and annoyance. Greyson.

“Oh, um, sorry. I thought this was Lane’s number? I’m Josh from Wild Roast.”

“And why are you calling my husband, Josh from Wild Roast ?” Did that mean it was Lane’s number or not?

“Oliver said I should call. Well, he actually said I should talk to you, but he gave me Lane’s number,” I explained, hoping to placate the intimidating man.

Greyson clicked his tongue. “I see.”

“Um, so…”

“ Daddyyy! Who is it? ” Lane’s voice rang out, gradually getting louder as he got closer to the phone.

“ It’s Josh ,” Greyson answered him.

“ Do I know a Josh? ”

“ Yes, he’s the owner at that coffee place you like, baby. He says Oliver told him to call. ”

“ Ohhh, yeah, that guy! He’s friends with Ollie. Why would Ollie tell him to call me, though?”

“Uh, is this a good time?” I asked, partially to remind them that I was still on the line. “I just needed advice on something, and he said I should talk to Greyson about it. It’s about my brother…?”

“Oh, the stalker brother, right? The one who’s not really your brother, but kind of, but not legally, but you grew up together?” Lane rambled.

“Um… yes. We’re not blood-related. His parents adopted me, but the adoption ended up being dissolved.”

Greyson asked, “What is the advice you need?”

“Well, um… it’s kinda embarrassing to explain…”

“Oooh,” Lane cooed, sounding excited to hear about my crisis.

“I am a therapist, Joshua,” Greyson began. I didn’t like how my name sounded in his mouth. Something about the way he said it made it sound like a threat. “I’m used to dealing with embarrassing topics. If you would like, I can send Lane to his room if you’re not comfortable having him listen in.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, yes, please,” I sighed in relief.

“ Wow, lame,” Lane sniffed, his voice gradually getting further away now.

“Okay, Joshua, can you tell me a bit about what’s troubling you?” Something in Greyson’s tone had shifted, almost like he was treating me as a therapy client.

“Dorian and I had sex,” I blurted out.

“And?” He sounded bored.