Page 49 of Fueled Hate

“Why can’t you just trust me?” he asks, frustration in his tone. So, I’m not the only one who thought things were shifting between us. Only how can I fully trust him?

“You haven’t shown me why I should trust you.”

He reaches into his pocket, clicking the screen of his phone as we pull back into the driveway of my house. “Nothing’s changed about our agreement.”

“‘Agreement’? That’s a funny way of putting it.” Yep. Fog is totally gone. Why had I thought he’d at least back off of the controlling shit? “Just tell me something, give me a solid reason to trust you.”

Dylan keeps his face turned away from me, but his voice is stern. “It’s your call, your risk, if you want to chance it.”

I don’t want to chance anything, especially where Dylan is involved. And I hear his message clearly. He’s asking if I’m willing to test him. And I’m not. That is one match I’m not ready to face because it’s evident I’m nowhere near capable of trusting my own judgment. But why had I believed we’d unlocked some ridiculous peace between us after tonight?

Parking in the driveway, I bail from my car as Dylan gets out too, looking at me over the hood. “You’re not worth the risk.” Trudging over to his car, I drop into the passenger seat as he commands the driver’s seat, in full control of our course, as usual. Don’t mind me, I’ll just leave my car and my freedom here. Now he’ll be even more entwined in my life, just like I don’t need.

“I’m supposed to go back to work Saturday. I can’t call out or be late after already missing this week. I need my job … not that you can relate to that.”

“You really shouldn’t assume what I can relate to.” His annoyance is back in its full-fledged glory. Good. At least I’m not the only miserable one in this stupid STI that probably has more money in aftermarket parts alone than the entirety of my car’s worth.

“That’s a hard feat when all I can do is assume. Maybe if you were a little more forthcoming with details that effect my life I wouldn’t be left in the dark. Or maybe I should go ahead and accept that everyone else can just orchestrate my life as they see fit, including you. You all pull the strings, I’m just a puppet.”

“You allow it,” he says frankly, no emotion in his voice.

I can’t decide if it’s the lack of emotion in his blunt words or the actual statement that pisses me off. “Fuck you.”

The entire ride back to Sunland is spent in silence, not a single word is uttered, and the tension only multiplies as he pulls into my apartment complex. The car isn’t fully stopped before I reach for the handle, pushing the door open at the same time he comes to an abrupt stop. I waste no time scrambling out of the car. Even as I rush away from him, I hear him call my name. Finally doing what I should’ve done long ago, I ignore him. Shutting his voice out of my mind and hurrying into my apartment, I slam the door closed. I know it won’t keep him at bay for long, but maybe it’ll provide me with some time until I can figure out how to deal with him. I need to know what’s going on. Maybe getting answers is the best way to help both of us. I’ll figure out how Dad got involved in smuggling pills, get Dylan his answers, and then he’ll leave me be. There is a sliver inside me that worries Dad will be deeply involved—to the point of no return—but I have hope. The man who told me I could be anything I wanted can’t be the same one who’s resorted to making a life from profiting off of others’ addictions and struggles, including his own son’s.

Immediately heading to the shower, I stay under the hot spray an extended amount of time. I’d messaged Willow on the ride back, so she knows I was heading home. She’d said she’d be home from Parker’s as soon as he heads to his night shift at the shipping warehouse. I’d reassured her I was fine, telling her I was going straight to bed. I really hoped to avoid her because she’ll see right through my lies about everything being all right, especially right now when I’m thoroughly drained.

It’s feels like a grueling, impossible feat, my energy is nearly drained by the time I’m out of the shower and pulling on a clean T-shirt and a pair of cotton pajama shorts. Climbing into bed, I feel like every limb has a weight tied to it, pulling me down as I crash against the soft, comfy bed. Even exhausted, I lie there going over every excruciating detail of the last few days before I finally drift off to sleep.

Hours later, I’m woken by a rapping on the front door. Hoping it’s just Willow mistakenly locked out, I glance at my phone and spot a message saying she’s decided to just stay at Parker’s. I promptly make my way to the door, standing on my tippy toes to peep through the lookout hole.

Dylan. I knew it was him before I laid eyes on the idiot but that doesn’t make me feel any better. The side of his fist connects with the door just below the peephole, banging loudly and causing me to jump away reflexively.

“Open the door.” Staring at the dead bolt, I debate as he bangs a few more times. “I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”

Looking at the oversize clock on the wall, I see it’s 4 a.m. Nothing good is going to come from allowing him in.

“Just go away.”

“Not until you let me in.”

“I already did,” I mumble under my breath.

Dylan yells out, instructing someone to mind their own fucking business as he lands another blow on my door. Great. Now he’s tormenting my neighbors too.

Taking a quick breath, I pull the door open. “What?”

His hands are pressed against the doorframe as he leans forward, staring at me. A neighbor across the breezeway hollers to keep it down before slamming their door. Hopefully nobody will complain to the leasing office, or worse, call in complaints about the belligerent man banging on doors at four in the morning.

“What do you want? Some of us actually want to sleep.” And I really need to. The good news is I’m off tomorrow. I’d debated going back to class, but now with this visit, I think I’ll heed the doctor’s orders and take a little more time to rest. It’s not like I’ve gotten any thus far. Obviously, Dylan made it home because he’s in fresh clothes. The exhaustion on his face tells me he more than likely hasn’t slept yet, though. But that’s on him. No one invited him to wake up the neighborhood like a crazy person.

He releases the frame, stepping inside before closing the door behind him.

Stepping back, I fold my arms across my chest, watching as he stands there silently. If this is just another ruse to drive me insane, it’s working. “I’m not doing this anymore. You need to leave.”

Turning towards my room, I hope he will leave.

“Noah Atwood.”