Page 15

-MALCOLM-

I THROWthe phone on the grass and stomp on it, channeling all of my frustration into the heel of my shoe. The screen shatters, and then the phone splinters into pieces, half embedded in the earth.

He’s messing with my head. First, he spies on me, records me, tempts me with his flustered arousal. I gave him every opportunity to tap out last night, but he didn’t. And then the next day, he doesn’t want anything to do with me, he calls me crazy, looks at me like I’m a serial killer or something. And now? He wants to tempt me back again. Wants the cage that I just released him from. My cage. What does this mean?

My head can’t take it. Why is he playing with me like this? Why is he tormenting me?

And why do I want him so badly?

I shout and kick the shattered pieces of my phone then set off again running, pushing myself hard as my legs eat up the dark ground. My limbs pump, my lungs heave.

It freaks me out that I’m having such a strong emotional reaction to him. Thinking about it logically, it’s probably a good thing that he ended it now before I got in too deep. But who am I kidding? I already am. If this is how I feel after one day, I can’t imagine what would happen if we’d lasted a week, a month, when he inevitably decided to fuck off.

I reach one end of the field and wheel around, sprinting off in the opposite direction.

What does he need my cage for anyway? He seemed desperate. Would it be so bad if I go and help him? Have just a little taste to help me quit. But no, that’s a terrible idea. If I saw him now, I don’t know how I’d react, I might lose control.

How can he have this kind of effect on me? It’s scary. I need to go cold turkey. I need to stop seeing him entirely. I should quit the team. But at the moment it’s the only release I have. I need the push, the strain of muscles, the sweat, and the clash of bodies to keep me in check.

My breath comes in ragged bursts, and I flick sweat out of my eyes.

I should go back to the club and restart with a nameless sub. I could find one with straw-blond hair and blue eyes. One with a big dumb smile. And I could wipe that smile away and make that face crease with pain and pleasure.

I push myself harder and harder, but it isn’t working. The churning in my head isn’t diminishing and I can feel everything thrumming inside me like a storm. It’s building up and up. It’s going to spill over.

My vision blurs. The packed grass under my feet loses focus. I blink hard and wetness trails down my cheeks.

Shit.

I clench my teeth in a grimace and keep on pushing through, until my airways are too blocked to breathe properly, and I have to stop and scrub furiously at my face.

Fuck you, I think. Fuck you, asshole, you deserve this.

“Hey!”

I spin.

Picked out by the light of the moon, his shadow cast long behind him, North is coming at me across the field.