Page 65 of The Retaliation You Deliver

I didn’t need Saturday night to confirm that, but it sure solidified the fact.

I don’t receive any more messages from him. Yet multiple times a day I stare at my cell wishing there was something, anything to let me know that he’s okay.

I watch the clock as it ticks around to the end of my study session on Wednesday night. I never rejoined the one I walked out on that night with Leon, but thankfully another group allowed me to join them. I can’t help wondering if they’re regretting it already because it’s not like I’ve contributed much tonight. In fact, much like the last session I attended, I have no idea what they’re even talking about.

Movement at the end of the aisle of books beside us catches my eye. I have no idea why, but my skin prickles like I’m being watched.

My heart jumps into my throat thinking that it could be him, that he could be here waiting for me.

Butterflies explode in my belly.

It’s wrong, so wrong but I can’t help craving his dirty words and brutal touch.

“Okay so, I think we should call it a night, I’m starving,” the guy who seems to be in charge of this little group says. I’ve been paying so little attention that I don’t even know any of their names.

A round of agreement sounds out as everyone starts packing up, but I don’t move. I’m frozen to the spot thinking that he’s standing in the shadows watching me like the other night in the park.

When I look over again, I don’t find anyone and I tell myself that I’m being stupid and letting my imagination run wild.

He’s not here. He’s not interested. He got what he wanted from me and he’s moved on.

The realization sends pain shooting through my chest, but the sooner I accept it, the better it will be in the long run.

Everyone says their goodbyes and disappears toward the exit while I slowly begin to pack my stuff away.

I force myself to keep my eyes on my things and not look back, but that becomes impossible when a shadow falls over me and a familiar scent fills my nose.

It was him.

He was watching you.

My breath catches in my throat as I wait to see what he’s going to do. What he’s going to say.

“Macie?” he breathes, forcing all the air from my lungs in a rush.

My spine straightens yet my body still refuses to turn to look at him because I know that the second I look into his eyes, everything might come crashing down around me.

I might be worried about him. I might be missing him, craving him. But it still doesn’t erase our past, his actions, his lies.

“What do you want, Leon?” I snap, my voice coming out colder than I was expecting.

“I just… I just want to talk, Macie.” His rough voice hits me where I’m sure he intended it to.

Is this genuine or is he just playing me all over again?

I hate to doubt his intentions. But it’s his own fault.

He should expect it after he shattered my trust by proving all my insecurities right.

He never was with me because he wanted to be. It was all a game. A game to get exactly what he wanted, consequences be damned. Just like every other football player I’ve ever met. My own father couldn’t get his own way, so he took the easy way out after Mom died and left me alone to deal with both their deaths. My uncle, well, he did anything in his power to make sure his life was as perfect as he wanted it to be. And then there’s Leon. Is he really any better than them?

Sucking in a deep breath, I throw my shoulders back and turn around, immediately finding his eyes.

“You want to talk?” I ask, holding my voice steady. “What exactly do you want to talk about?” Fear flickers across his features as if I’m about to stand here and announce to the entire library that he was abused by my uncle. “How you played me?” I forge on, not allowing his feelings to dampen down my anger. “How you tied me up in a bathroom Saturday night and left me? For hours,” I hiss.

“Macie, please.”

“Why should I?” I scoff, turning my back on him once again and stuffing my books into my bag.