Bandaged & Damaged {BoyxBoy & FIN & EDITING}

chapter eighteen

Numb. And uncomfortable. Laying next to Easton and staring at nothing but the ceiling let my mind wander. I thought back what we did together, how he acted, how he acted like a boyfriend before he—we—changed. How his blue eyes would lit up every time, he saw me and a smile would appear on his face (I don't think he knew he was smiling when he saw me). Or when he would hold me, and I would pretend that I hated it when I actually enjoyed it. Or he would try to make me smile or laugh because he felt like it was his job to do that.

Everything he did, before everything turn into shit, I pretended, in a playful way, to hate it because I didn't know how to feel. I didn't know how to have a crush, I didn't know how to kiss, and I damn sure didn't realize that Easton was like this.

A fucking monster.

If I knew I was going to end up being boyfriends with a monster, I would have never met him, despite him showing me what it's like to be in a relationship. Closing my eyes and finding him on top of me as he tried to stop me from breathing. That was one of my nightmares. I had many more, but they weren't nightmares, they were realities that I had to face for a month. I was supposed to break up with him, in my mind I did, but he thought we were dating still. Ha.

The relationship could have lasted. The relationship could have turned into something more. The relationship could have turned into love—something I didn't think I would receive. Maybe I don't deserve to be loved romantically. And that made my stomach twist and turn.

"Jasper?" I tensed up at his voice. Wasn't he sleeping? Why is he awake at this hour?

"Are you awake?" I wished I wasn't if you were going to wake up.

I bit my bottom lip and stayed still. He was going to bother me until I answered him, and if I lied, I might get hit. I don't think my body can handle any more bruises when the old ones are trying to heal, and the new ones are beginning to heal. I hated two options: lie and get hurt, or say something and have a 50/50 chance of getting hurt or not.

"Yes," I said quietly. In reality, I wanted to ask him what he wanted, but that would cause too much trouble.

"How do you feel?" He whispered.

"Fine."

He sighed, and I felt him shift on the bed. A warm arm lay on my abdomen, and I glanced sideways and saw him face me. Of course, the stupid moonlight shine on his face that showed the beautiful blue eyes that I used to like. Of—fucking—course.

He sat up and leaned his head on his hand, his elbow on the pillow, and his eyes never looking away. He was searching for something. For what? The warmth on my abdomen disappeared, and his hand caressed my cheek. Was it it terrible that I was used to his touch? Was it wrong that I stopped flinching whenever he touched me? Was it wrong that I couldn't do anything but let him touch me?

"Don't lie to me," Easton said softly. He dragged his fingertips to my cheek to my bottom lip and repeated the process. I wanted to grab his hand and tell him never to touch me again. He could have kissed me in a loving way like he used to. He could have held my hand like he used to. He could have treated me right like he used to.

"I feel uncomfortable."

I moved my eyes away from the ceiling and looked at his face. He had regret and a pained expression. Shouldn't I be the one in pain? He stopped caressing my cheek and lip and sighed loudly. "How can I make you comfortable?"

Make me comfortable by leaving me the fuck alone.

"I don't know, but I would like to sleep," I told him and closed my eyes quickly. I relaxed my beating heart and listened to everything and anything. I could feel his awakened presence next to me, his blue eyes burning a hole on my face. He continued to caress my cheek but never went back to my lips. Then I felt something heavy on the side of my pillow. His breath fanned my exposed neck, and it took all my might not to shiver.