Page 37 of Let the Game Begin

Selene

That night was one of the worst.

I was restless, just tossing and turning in my bed. Every tiny noise agitated me further, and the sound of rain pattering on the window panes only made me more miserable.

I jumped at the thunder, lightning intermittently illuminating the walls around me. I pulled the blankets up to my nose, willing myself to calm down.

Sigh. I couldn’t stop thinking about Neil and what had happened in his room just a few hours earlier. What was supposed to be a simple “bonding trip” to see my father was now turning into something else entirely. All of my plans had been upended. Neil had torn through the flowery meadow of my life like a hurricane.

I no longer knew who I was or what choices were the right ones or even what was going to become of me if I continued to live in this world of chaos. The adrenaline I now regularly felt coursing through me was not normal. I’d always lived a steady life, characterized by methodical actions and carefully considered choices. But now I was a ship at the mercy of the waves, not knowing where they might take me.

I had no idea what awaited me from one day to the next. But strangely, the not knowing made me feel alive.

Still restless, I stretched my arm out for the switch on the lamp and turned it on. I sat up in bed and looked around the room thoughtfully. If the thunder outside didn’t stop, I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

I was considering trying to go back to sleep when two raps at the door startled me. I threw aside the blankets and got out of the bed, creeping over to the door in my bare feet. I opened it slowly only to find Neil’s honey-colored eyes fixed on me. It was then that it occurred to me that I was only wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a white T-shirt without a bra, so I blushed.

Neil stood with one hand resting on the doorframe, just a short distance from me.

“Can I come in?” he asked in a low tone, and his voice seemed somehow even deeper and more masculine to me. I had a moment of concern. After what happened earlier, I wasn’t sure that I could trust him. He seemed calm at the moment, but I had clearly seen his rough, mercurial side.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me; I just want to talk to you,” he said softly, like he could read my mind.

After a couple more seconds’ hesitation, I moved aside to let him in. He towered over me with his six-foot-plus frame, and I shut the door behind him.

He wanted to talk?

Well, I was listening.

“Talk to me,” I prompted him, and he turned to face me. The dim lamp light only lit up half his face, but it was enough for me to linger on his unique, finely drawn features.

“No bra?” he started thoughtfully, staring at my chest. His eyes were bright and intense now but no longer threatening. I tracked the direction of his stare and then folded my arms over my chest to shield myself from him.

“Do you think it’s polite to point that out to me?” My voice trembled and I blushed. Before him, no one else had seen me naked.

“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.” He rubbed his neck and sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He clasped his hands and balanced his elbows on his knees. He was buying himself some time before beginning his speech while I stayed right where I was.

I figured it was better to keep a good amount of distance between the two of us.

“At times…” he began, “I have these periods when it is very difficult to control myself…” Talking to me about this was clearly an enormous effort for him. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his muscles all tense and contracted. “I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, but I want you to know that I would never hurt you.” He paused. “Not voluntarily,” he added, sounding mortified. He looked so different from the boy I’d encountered just hours earlier. He was contemplative and present in the moment.

“I don’t know who you are, Neil,” I whispered, drawing his beautiful eyes to me.

“My name is Neil Miller. I was born on May third in New York. I have a brother and a—” he answered sardonically, but I shook my head and he stopped.

“I mean I don’t know who youreallyare. You don’t allow yourself to be known.” I stood apart from him with my arms folded, but when his gaze dropped first to my bare legs and then to my bare feet, I trembled.

“I don’t want you to know anything about me. I’d rather leave you the freedom to imagine me however you’d like.” He got up from the bed and moved toward me.

No, no, no.

He was definitely crossing the boundary that I had internally imposed upon him to maintain my clear head. I backed up until I hit the wall, and he stopped and looked sorrowful.

“You don’t want me to get near you.” It wasn’t a question; he saw how frightened I was. I gulped and shrugged.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I admitted, and he winced like I’d slapped him. He stepped back and sat down on the bed again. I didn’t understand how he could go from being so surly and vulgar to docile and compliant.

The variability alarmed me.