Page 73 of Oleander

I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to hang up and never have to look him in the face again, but that thought lasted less than a second. Instead, I glanced away from the phone.

“If you tell me the truth,” he said. “I’ll let you ask me something in return – something I promise to answer truthfully.”

I looked back at him. He was serious. Beautiful and deadly and serious.

“But if you lie about it, and trust me, I’ll know because you’re a horrendous liar, I’ll hang up, block your number, and you’ll be lucky if you ever see me again.”

My bones trembled beneath my skin, alive with panic and terror. These past few months had been bad enough. Never see him again? It was unthinkable. I knew I could threaten him, threaten to expose his lawyer; wasn’t that what I’d come on here to do anyway?

But deep down, past the madness, I knew I didn’t want that.

I didn’t want to threaten or force him to see me. I wasn’t sure this was any better, him forcing me, but it certainly came with less guilt.

I closed my eyes and counted.

My voice shook a little when I said, “I...can’t remember.”

“Try.”

I’d thought about what we did more times than I could remember: in class, as Luke drove me to school, while kissingEllie, while thinking about the essay I was writing, the film I’d just watched, or the song I was listening to.

But he’d only asked how many times I’dgotten offto it. Still, it was a lot. I was a teenager. I closed my eyes and thought about it. I’d imagine it was him with his hand around me. I’d imagine the curve of his lips or the shape of his hands. I’d remember his kiss and his tongue and the sounds he’d made when he’d come. I’d think about how the inside of his mouth had felt and tasted. I was almost fully hard by that point and I gripped the end of my dick to try and calm it down.

When I opened my eyes to look at him, he was smiling a little, clearly pleased with himself. His eyes looked dark in the light of his dorm room, his mouth a lush ruinous thing.

I remembered that mouth open and filled with mine.

“A lot, okay,” I said with a heavy sigh.

“I thought so.”

Sweat had begun to dampen my forehead.

“Cas, look, I don’t...I don’t know what I want, okay? I wish you were here so I could see you, so we could talk and see...” I didn’t know what I was saying or where the next words would lead me. “I just wish you hadn’t left.”

The self-satisfied look on his face melted away. Something softer and more sincere moved into his eyes.

Later, I’d come to understand that he knew how sincerity affected his features. It was why he so rarely showed it. Sincerity gave his face an almost fragile quality. Delicate and exquisite. His beauty was always striking, but when he was tender and gentle with it, he became almost painful to look at. Magnificent and terrible as an angel. Divinity made flesh.

“You’re making things very difficult for me, you know,” he said quietly.

“Sorry.” And I was. I was sorry about a lot of things.

It felt like a long time before he spoke again. When he did, it was with a measure of defeat.

“I will be home at the end of March for two weeks.”

“March?” It was January. I was certain I’d go crazy if I had to wait another two months to see him.

“Yes. Then there is one more term before I can say goodbye to this overpriced prison in the Alps for good.” He looked around the room with disdain.

“Is it that bad?”

He shrugged. “It’s no worse than any other school, I suppose. It’s just that everyone who goes here is a sociopath. The child of a millionaire or oligarch or diplomat; sometimes all three at once.”

“Sounds awful,” I said.

“It is. But I’ll likely have to see half of these idiots again at Oxford.”