Damaged Part 22

He laughs. "No, but you can't leave that cut untreated. You'll grow a tail or something. Besides, it's on the way to your dorm."

I nod. I go to his place. I don't realize what will happen. I don't realize any of it.

CHAPTER 19

"The sc.r.a.pe looks superficial," Peter says, holding my arm and examining the cuts gently. There are nine angry red pin-sized sc.r.a.pes down one arm. We are sitting in his bathroom. The medicine cabinet is open. It's the first time I've been in his house since the night I met him. Everything is put away now. Peter is very neat. I'm shocked that he even has a kit like this.

I still feel silly. Who gets attacked by small wildlife creatures? I'm the ant.i.thesis of Snow White. "It probably wouldn't have happened if I didn't scream like a lunatic and launch the squirrel at the wall. I freaked out on his little a.s.s."

Peter is grinning when looks up at me. "Yes, you did. I heard you yelling in the dining room. By the time I threw the door open, I was sure someone was killing you. Then, I see you launch a small animal across the room." He laughs. "I have the shower scene from Psycho in my head, except Norman Bates is a squirrel. You better watch your step. When he gets out of that restaurant, he's gonna tell all his buddies." Peter's shoulders are shaking. He's trying so hard not to laugh.

I'm grinning. Norman the Squirrel with his little knife is kind of funny. "Jerk."

"Hold still. Odds are this'll sting like a b.i.t.c.h."

"Do b.i.t.c.hes really stin-" I stop asking stupid questions and let out a slew of swear words. "What the h.e.l.l is that? Acid?" I rip my arm away. My skin burns as if he set it on fire.

Peter reaches for my hand and yanks it back out. "Baby." He holds a bottle of stuff over my arm again. There's a towel under my elbow. The liquid runs down my arm and onto the towel.

Peter pours it quickly, again. My body tenses and I grit my teeth. I'm ready for it this time. My jaw locks, but I nearly fall over when Peter lowers his head and blows on the bubbling cuts. His pink lips are pursed and he blows on my skin. The gentle rush of air chases away the sharp burn and makes my skin cold. I forget to lock my jaw. I'm still tense, but the reason has changed. Peter doesn't seem to realize what he's done. He's still grinning and looks up at me.

No, no, no. I have a deer in the headlights look on my face. I don't move. I can't think. I can't breathe. Peter's eyes darken. He doesn't look away. My heart pounds louder. I think he can hear it. Suddenly, I notice my breathing, the way I'm taking shallow shaky breaths. Peter's fingers remain on my wrist, holding my arm out across my knee. I'm lost in his gaze. I feel a magnetic pull toward him, towards his lips. My skin is charged from his touch. I can't stand it. Sucking in air, I turn my face.

I can't do it.

I can't kiss him.

I shouldn't even be here.

Peter's voice is deeper than usual. "That should help. Let me get the antiseptic, and cover it up. Then, we can take you home." He drops my wrist and stands up. Peter is staring at the little bottle, but he doesn't take it in his hands. Instead, he stands there, unblinking. He breathes in deeply and lets the air rush out from between his lips. I feel like I'm watching p.o.r.n. My pulse is racing and I'm too warm. I can't look away. I don't want to.

Peter runs his hands through his hair and grabs the ointment. "Here, this should help it heal faster." He dabs it on my arm. My stomach curls at his light touch. I watch Peter as he presses his finger to the sc.r.a.pes. It makes me s.h.i.+ver so badly that I yank my arm away.

Peter looks up at me. My mouth is open, but I have no words. What am I supposed to say? Your touch makes me crazy? Every time you dab that stuff on me, I tingle in all the wrong places? What the h.e.l.l is wrong with me?

I jump off the little bench in the bathroom and try to push past him. Peter turns at the last second. Our bodies line up. Ice drips down my spine and I freeze. His pecs are lined up with mine. I can feel him. It sends s.h.i.+vers through me that turn into a throb. My lips part and I gasp, trying to say words that won't come. I try to move my feet. I try to do anything but stay there and look up into his eyes.

Peter lifts his hands slowly. I feel the heat from his palms just below my elbows. I know he wants to touch me. I know what he's debating, because the same thoughts are racing through my mind. I know I should I move, but I can't. My pulse pounds harder, roaring in my ears. I feel his hands nearly touch the bare skin on my arms. Peter's hands are so close, but they don't touch me.

I don't lift my gaze, even though I feel Peter's eyes burning a path from my eyes to my lips. If I look up, I won't be able to leave. If I look up, I'll throw everything away. Throwing away college means going home. It means going back to the people I ran away from. It means seeing the man who used my body over and over again.

My voice is so strained when I speak. "I can't..."

Peter's face is so close. He's lowered his head. I can feel his breath on my lips. My fingers ball at my sides. I stretch my hands and then curl my fingers into fists.

Don't touch him. Don't.

"I know," Peter breathes. I close my eyes and feel the room tip to the side. It's so hot in here. He's so close to me. I peel my eyes open again, and stare at his chest. I won't look up. I can't look up. "We can't, but I can't let you go."

My eyes flick up. Oh, G.o.d. Mistake. Sirens are ringing in my ears. I fall into those twin pools of pure blue and I can't climb out. I gasp. My lips are right by his. Peter's hands are still over my arms. Every few moments, his fingers clench shut, as though he's fighting the urge to touch me. I try to swallow. I try to look down, but I'm so hopelessly tangled in his gaze. I want his hands on me. I want to feel his palms burning on my skin. I want things that I thought I'd never want.

My lips are parted. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Every breath I take swells inside me, forcing my chest out, making my b.r.e.a.s.t.s brush against his chest. I need to stop breathing. My head is swimming with l.u.s.t. Part of me is begging to be touched, to be kissed. I can't stop it. I can't control it. I'm trapped.

Peter's hands unclench and he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there's a hopeless smile on his face. He starts talking, pouring his heart out, every last damaged bit. "I'm never the lucky one. Every time I find someone, she gets ripped away. She's always out of reach and it's not like I can change that.

"I can't get her back. I can't change things. There are no second chances. I've lost everything. I lost Gina.

"I lost myself when she died. I haven't felt a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing since then. But then you came along... You're smart and beautiful. I thought I could move on, but I couldn't. I wasn't ready. You were the only person who understood that, and knew what it truly meant.

"And now," Peter laughs bitterly and presses his eyes closed. When he opens them again, he looks tormented. His voice becomes higher as he speaks. His words come faster, more pained, more panicked. "Now that I'm ready to move on, I can't. I can't lose my job. I can't be with you, but I can't be without you. G.o.d, Sidney. Tonight was one of the best and worst moments of my life. You said you loved me. You love me..." he smiles sadly and shakes his head. "I love you, too. You brought me back to life. You gave me back my smile. You're everything to me, but I can't do this to you-"

I stare at him. My eyes are too wide and my mouth is hanging open. What did he say? He can't mean that. He can't, but he said it. Peter loves me. But I can't follow him. There's so much agony in his voice. I don't know what he means. "Do what to me?"

"You're here on scholars.h.i.+p. I know what will happen to me if I go through with this, and I can't let you throw away your life-"

He loves me. I stare at his eyes, listening to him say it, listening to the reason why he's frozen, why he's not touching me. He loves me.

I'm so afraid, so terrified that he'll push me away, but I do it anyway. For a split second, I'm brave-and stupid, and reckless and impulsive. I cut off his words by slipping my fingers over his stubbled cheeks. I lean in and brush my lips to his. His mouth is sweet and soft.

Peter freezes when I kiss him. His arms don't wrap around me. He doesn't kiss me back. My muscles are so tense, so ready to run. I thought he'd hold me. I thought he'd respond.

Shame floods my face. I break the tiny kiss and look down. "I'm sorry," I say to the floor. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have..." My lower lip is quivering. I try to hold it still, but it won't cooperate, so I suck my lip into my mouth and bite down.

Before I can say another word, Peter scoops me up into his arms. I yelp and hold on tight. He walks us to the front door and lowers me to the floor. My body slides against his. The hem of my dress slips up shamefully high as I get down and press my feet to the floor. He's going to throw me out again. My hands are on his chest.

Peter doesn't step away. I feel his eyes on my face. I can't let go. He lets out a breath and leans into me. His hands are on my shoulders. He looks at my fingers on his chest. "I can't tell you to go."

"Then don't."

"I can't sleep with you."

"Then we won't."

He laughs at that. "You make it sound easy. I can barely think with you touching me like that. You seriously think I have enough self-control not to sleep with you?"

I nod. My fingers are splayed over his chest. I feel all of him, every curve, every muscle. "Your headlights are on." My thumb rubs over his pec, feeling the taut nipple beneath.

He laughs, and says, "So are yours," right before my thumb moves over him. He moans and grabs my hand. "Sidney."

"Peter."

"You're too- You don't know what you're giving up." His voice is husky. The muscles in his neck are flexed tight. He keeps clenching his jaw and smas.h.i.+ng his lips together.