Page 36 of Endless Anger (Monsters Within #1)

LUCY

Getting overstimulated is embarrassing. Even when it happens in front of someone who’s seen it a million times and never made you feel weird about it.

The sensation comes on suddenly—one second, you’re existing normally, coasting along in a secluded comfortability. The next, your sweater is a little too long or too tight, or the tag is brushing against your neck because you forgot to rip it out. It’s too hot and too loud—just too much .

There’s no other way to describe it except as an onslaught of everything . You absorb the minutiae, and it never gets expelled. It builds and builds and builds until you explode.

And the explosion is always accompanied by fiery shame, the flames of which only seem to fan the blaze. Which is why I’m glad Asher doesn’t bother trying to stick around and keep talking to me or trying to reason.

Especially now with that half confession tossed between us.

He didn’t even apologize, though I’m not sure why I was expecting him to.

Asher Anderson’s never been sorry in his life.

Definitely not for hurting me .

Still, he used to be the angry one. Didn’t he?

Or was I just not paying enough attention?

As soon as the dorm room door closes, I kick off my boots, drop my backpack, and jump into the bed. It’s warm from Foxe and smells like a mixture of him and Asher—fresh cotton and spicy cologne.

My bed growing up smelled like this all the time, since they spent most of their evenings in it, either playing with one of our dogs, doing homework, or annoying me and Aurora. My younger siblings were in my bedroom less than those three.

Stretching out beneath the plaid duvet cover, I realize how stiff my bones are from falling asleep while sitting up in the Obeliskos nightly since the incident .

A shiver racks my body as I bask in the warmth of the lumpy bed; sprinting here in the rain after my meeting with Professor Dupont drenched my sweater, but I’d been too stubborn to change.

Now I’m soaking Asher’s mattress, but I don’t care. My eyelids are too heavy to afford that luxury for the first time I can remember.

Keats hops up beside me, curling against my legs.

After lying there for a couple of minutes, the clothes clinging to me becomes unbearable.

Sliding away from Keats, I slip from the bed, glancing around to find something to change into.

The overnight bag Aurora gave me is tucked away in the library, so I can’t exactly trudge over there for it. Not without getting rained on again.

A discarded, plain black T-shirt sits on the back of Asher’s desk chair.

Balling my hands into fists, I pinch my eyes shut and silently curse whatever ghosts are reveling in my misery in the afterlife.

Quickly, I peel off my wet clothes and yank the dry shirt over my head. The hem falls to the tops of my thighs, but it’s better than nothing, I guess .

Nothing would send the wrong message entirely.

I hang my skirt, sweater, and tights over the open door of the wardrobe and climb back into bed, shuffling down under the covers. My panties are still damp, but I refuse to remove them.

Heat envelops me, and I sink into the feeling, pretending I don’t notice how Asher’s scent is everywhere . On my skin, invading my senses, blocking out Foxe entirely.

Instead of going to my next class, I fall asleep and don’t wake back up until the clock tower chimes its midnight bell, echoing through all of Fury Hill like some sort of bad omen.

Keats rubs his head beneath my chin as my eyes open, and I stroke his soft, silky fur. He purrs, shifting slightly in his slumber, and the desk lamp across the room flickers on.

Startled, I hug the cat closer to my body, my gaze darting to the figure in the room, taking a second to adjust.

At first, I swear it’s one of the men from that night, somehow having discovered I witnessed their crime, and my heart drops. Fear slices through me like a serrated knife, taking root in the pit of my stomach.

I blink, and suddenly the unfamiliarity is gone, leaving Asher’s tall, lean frame instead. He braces a palm against the wooden desk, his hair hanging in wet strands over his forehead and dripping onto the floor.

There’s a tear in his T-shirt, obscured until he discards his jacket, and the material is covered in red and brown stains. He reaches up, messing with the hoop piercing in his nose, and then drops his other hand to the desk, huffing out a leaden breath.

I swallow when he moves to take off the shirt, my eyes glued to the cut muscles rippling across his back and shoulder blades. Even his biceps are corded and tight, and my belly flips as I take in his state of undress for the third time since he’s been back in my life.

He walks over to the wardrobe, pulling a long-sleeved shirt from inside. Blackish-purple splotches cover his abdomen, decorating his ribs, and my mouth parts at the brutalization of his pale skin.

“It’s impolite to stare.”

Immediately, my attention drops to Keats’s head. I gently trace his pink and black nose, warmth spreading through me when he pushes into the movement. “What happened to you?”

“Foxe happened. Or I happened to him, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. It’s settled. ”

“Ominous.” I purse my lips, wondering how bad his cousin looks if he’s this beaten up. “Is he still alive?”

He doesn’t respond for a very long time. Long enough that I look back over at him, studying the rigid length of his spine and the tension threading through his forearms.

Finally, he glances at me. “Is that something you really think I’m capable of?”

I swallow. “I don’t know, Asher. I don’t know you .”

Not anymore.

He stares, eventually turning around with a small shake of his head. I guess I don’t need to reiterate that I’m still not convinced he had nothing to do with Celeste, even though there’s no real reason for me to think that.

Other than his sudden resurgence into my life the same night it happened.

My fingers spread on Keats’s fur. “You guys are kind of old to be fighting like you used to, don’t you think?”

“We do it less often than when we were younger,” he says, shrugging. “Some things just…bring it out of us.”

“Of you, you mean. Foxe is a lover through and through.”

Asher’s jaw works from side to side, and he lets the shirt fall to the ground. “Yeah. I’m usually the problem.”

He doesn’t say it like he wants me to refute it, which is just as well, because I won’t. Asher’s an instigator and always has been, though no one aside from his parents has ever seemed able to predict what might set him off.

I lift my chin, tentatively seeking his gaze.

His attention feels too intense, like staring straight into the heart of the sun. It burns me in places I’ve long since forgotten, and I rip myself away, rolling onto my back. Keats, disturbed by the shift, leaps off the bed and crawls under it.

The ceiling, like all others in Erebus Hall, is covered in water stains. They leak when it rains too much—already, there’s a deep, dark patch directly over the bed, threatening in its presence .

Or maybe that’s the man across the room. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell.

The bed dips, drawing me to the side with it as Asher starts to climb in.

“Hey!” I put my arms up, avoiding contact with his bare skin. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m tired . I’d like to sleep.”

He rolls over, facing the wall without bothering to get beneath the covers. I feel immensely crowded and pull at the blankets, trying to keep a modicum of modesty now that I’m hyperaware of the fact that I’m in nothing but panties and a T-shirt.

His T-shirt.

It’s innocent enough, but there’s something about being half-naked and squished here with him that makes me feel… weird .

My skin buzzes with anticipation. Of what, I don’t fucking know, because I’m certainly not planning on jumping his bones.

Even if something deep, deep within me really wants to. A longing tugs low in my abdomen, begging me to turn and have my way with him.

But I don’t. Nerves or anger win out, and I just stare at the open sketchbook on his desk.

Unable to rest now, I move to get up.

Asher’s voice halts me. “Where are you going?”

“You don’t need me taking up space?—”

“I do,” he says softly, his hand sliding over my forearm, squeezing tight. He’s still facing the wall. “Please, Lucy. Stay.”

Swallowing so hard I see stars, I sink back into the mattress. For a few moments, I wiggle around, trying to get my bearings.

“This bed really isn’t big enough for us both,” I mutter, gripping the covers so tight my fingers feel like they might fall off.

“Do you want to get on top of me?”

Heat sears across my chest, eating up my neck and face. “Absolutely not.”

“Don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

“Inappropriate suggestions aren’t helpful.”

“Inappropriate? We shared when we were younger, and you had no problem with it then. ”

“That was different.”

“Oh yeah?” He rolls toward me, propping his cheek on the heel of his hand. “How so?”

In the dim lamp lighting, I can make out the warm brown of his irises, emphasized by the bruising around the right eye. There’s a cut on his lip, split next to the scar, and his nose looks a little swollen.

I drop my gaze to the length of my body, ignoring the blush consuming me. “Well, for starters, I didn’t hate you back then.”

“You don’t hate me now.”

Huffing, I shift onto my side away from him. Unwilling to let him know that he might be right.

He snorts, and I feel him move again, probably lying on his back. The warmth from his body sets mine completely on edge, my temperature skyrocketing.

I study the worn spines of the books on his desk across the room, volumes of manga and classics he’s had for years now. It makes me feel like we’re kids all over again, and a part of me preens at that thought.

When we were kids, I didn’t question anything. Asher was my best friend, and that was a truth I knew.

It was all that mattered.

Keats’s glowing yellow eyes appear at the bedside, and I move my arm, allowing him a place to jump onto. He fits himself into the small space, curling against me as he begins to purr, and I thread my fingers into his lush fur.

“So…what have you been doing all this time?” I ask quietly, hoping to change the subject. “I mean with Foxe and stuff. Besides going to school, apparently. You haven’t really been around back home. At least not when I’d visit.”

“Didn’t think you wanted me around.” He blows out a long, labored breath.

“To be honest, I haven’t been doing much outside of classes.

Learning animation and traditional art takes up most of my time.

Otherwise, I just go for anything that doesn’t demand too much from me, since I apparently became Foxe’s main roadie at some point. ”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “I’ll bet he loves that.”

“The way he complains, you’d think he’d rather have someone else doing it.”

“That isn’t true,” I say around a yawn. “I doubt he trusts anyone more than you.”

Asher grunts but doesn’t comment. For a while, neither of us speak, and rain begins pattering against the windowpane, lulling me closer to the edge of consciousness.

Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how tired I was. The nap I had before he came in helped a little, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to fully catch up.

Exhaustion covers me like a weighted blanket, and I let my eyes fall closed, telling myself I’m only staying because there’s quite literally nowhere else for me to go.

My room is blocked off, and the library isn’t comfortable. If I go to Aurora, she’ll just worry and make me feel worse.

Me sleeping here has nothing to do with how good it all feels.

Nothing at all.

“Just like old times, isn’t it?”

I peel an eyelid open at his musing, expecting him to say something more. Something that shatters the illusion.

“Don’t bother reading into it,” I reply softly. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Again, he doesn’t respond, and I assume he’s fallen asleep. I clutch Keats close, trying to convince myself that it’s his fur heating me in places I’ve never felt before rather than the steady, rhythmic breathing coming from behind me.

But it’s the breathing I fall asleep to anyway.