Filthy English

Everyone stared at me expectantly. Waiting.

Was it my turn to talk?

No. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t pretend with him anymore. Not now.

Giving up, I swallowed, said a hasty goodbye, and fled.

Reaching the end of the hall, I turned the corner and leaned against a wall of books, feeling out of breath for no good reason.

Dax was breaking my heart. He was beautiful and broken, not able to see what I could see. And just glimpsing him at a table with other girls, obviously studying, made me bonkers. It was freshman year all over again, only magnified by a million.

Steadying myself, I walked downstairs, found Lulu, and dropped down next to her with a groan.

She flicked her eyes up at me from over a magazine. “What’s eating you? I thought you loved it upstairs with all the musty old books.”

“Dax is up there.”

“And this is a problem?”

“He didn’t come home last night. He had a party at the frat.”

She grimaced. “That’s what he does, Remi. You knew this about him a long time ago.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

I fiddled with my phone. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? Maybe get a beer at Cadillac’s.”

Her eyebrows went sky high. “On a Tuesday? It’ll be dead.”

“Not the first week of school. Come on. I need to blow off some steam.”

She slapped down the magazine. “As long as there’s no tequila involved, I’m down with that.”

On Wednesday, I woke up with a hangover.

I took a long shower, praying the hot water would work its magic on me.

Coming downstairs, I plodded into the kitchen wearing my nightdress. Nothing had changed. No glasses in the sink. No dishes on the counter. I peeked in his bedroom and the bed was still made. No evidence that I had a roommate.

Dax showed up for zoology, but instead of taking the seat next to me like he had on Monday, he aimed for the middle next to a couple of pretty girls. He sent me a polite nod, and I wanted to scream at him.

He bolted from class when the professor dismissed us, and I followed him out in the hall. “Dax?”

He halted and turned to face me. “Hey.”

His casual words didn’t fool me. The barrier he carried to protect himself was already in place.

“You haven’t been home much.”

Concern etched his face and he came in closer. “You’re not scared there alone are you?”

“No.” I nibbled my thumbnail.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes searched mine.

“I miss you.” I said the words honestly, not caring.

He whitened. “Please don’t say that. You can’t.”

Blood left my face, and I closed my eyes, digging deep to find a tiny piece of strength to walk away from him.

Why are you still standing here, Remi?

Don’t you have any pride?

How much will it take for you to leave him alone?

The answer burned in my head—so simple and easy, like beautiful things usually are. I loved him.

There are no coincidences in life, only fate pushing you toward one another.

He was my imperfect soul mate, and every tiny thread in the universe had stitched my heart to his, piecing us together, fashioning us into something that was, in my mind, absolutely perfect.

The broken ticker in my chest knew it.

My bomb-ass brain knew it.

I suspected he knew it.

I was crazy for him, always had been, and it was never going to change. Even when I’d been with Hartford, the majority of my heart had belonged to Dax. Oh, I’d ignored it for three years, shoving it down deep, constantly reminding myself of how he’d hurt me. He’d been too young then. He hadn’t been ready. Maybe he still wasn’t ready—but my love?—it was wild and crazy and wicked with a filthy need for him. I craved him, body, soul, and mind.

I don’t think I’d want to live if he died.

I don’t think I could carry on without knowing he was breathing.

Like a piece of carefully folded paper that’s been hidden away but is now opened, I saw everything clearly. The truth had been right in front of me the entire time.

He was mine; I was his. Nothing would ever change that.

I opened my eyes when the sound of a phone vibrating brought me back. It was Dax’s.

He didn’t notice, his eyes on my face, as if mesmerized by what he saw.

“That’s your phone,” I finally said as it continued to shake, the sound coming from his backpack.

He opened his backpack and checked it. Looked back at me. “It’s Declan. He’s waiting for me to come to the gym. I have to go.” He didn’t look like he wanted to go, a torn expression on his face.

“Then go.” I pushed a piece of hair out of my face, and his eyes widened.

He dropped his book bag. “Where’s your ring?” he barked.

“I gave it back to Hartford. I—I wanted to tell you, but there hasn’t been a good time. You’re never home—”

“Remi.” His voice was low. Gravelly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Text me? Something?”

“I’m telling you now. Here.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath and swallowed, his throat working to form words. “I’ll—I’ll be home tonight.”

Around two, Malcolm texted me a pic of him holding a can of Ragu.

I want spaghetti. Mom says she’ll bring me and the groceries if you’ll cart me back tonight.