Grey_The Infatuation

by Allison White

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I groan as I get in and close the door after me. I attach the seatbelt and reach over and do the same, finding him without his on. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything as the loud clink! sounds.

  Good. Now my baby is nice and secure.

  “Happy?” he teases.

  “Ecstatic,” I mumble sarcastically.

  “On your marks!” The girl’s yell slices through the air, and Grey swiftly slips into a more serious attitude. I watch in fascination as he revs the engine and squints his eyes, prepared for what is to come. But I’m not.

  What is wrong with me? This can end so horribly…

  “Are you sure you can’t just Rock-Paper-Scissors for the money?” I ask, desperately concerned.

  “I’ve got this, babe.” He holds up a hand and pinches his bottom lip, a dark glint to his eyes. So primal…so reckless…I am so dead.

  “Get set!” she shouts, and the boys rev their engines again. A knowing smile falls on her lips. I can feel the tension creeping up my arms and wrap around my neck, making it hard to swallow. More people have gathered outside, and it suddenly sinks in what is about to happen.

  “Go!” she yells and bends down.

  Gears tightening and tires squealing swallows the sound of my scream and Grey’s chuckle. We lurch forward, and I freakishly play with my charms while silently saying a prayer. The wind plays dance battle with my hair, sending the loose, curly tendrils to tickle my face and lap around my eyes. I frantically push them behind my ears and swallow as I sink in the seat, raising my legs and biting into my knee.

  Grey tries to reach out and hold my hand, I guess to comfort me, but I have never screamed as loud as I tell him, “Don’t touch me, jackass! Both hands on the wheel!”

  He laughs and puts it on the wheel.

  If I close my eyes and clasp my ears, I bet it’ll feel like I’m in the air and this isn’t happening. But when I do it, we are still flying down the narrow lanes and Grey is still howling and punching the roof of the car like he’s a manic.

  In this moment, I see how truly demented in all the wrong places he is. He gets high on getting hurt and hurting others; he enjoys this insane challenge—he loves things normal people shouldn’t. But I couldn’t care any less, even if someone paid me a million dollars. Because no amount of money could ever pull me away from this delirious man with the heart of a thousand fires.

  A smile breaks out on my face, and I laugh a little…until he reaches over and pinches my cheek and I’m screaming and half laughing. Now I’m insane. For loving him and for imitating him. But I wouldn’t mind being a little crazy. Who likes normal, anyway?

  I close my eyes and scream and slap the dashboard curtly. He shakes his head wildly, and I shoot my arm out of the rolled down window and let the wind slip through my fingers.

  My brief rush of adrenaline is abruptly shot down when I feel the car jerk to the side. I look across Grey and feel my heart drop. The opposing driver tried to underhand Grey by swerving close to us. But Grey displays skills I didn’t even know he had and adjusts the gear with precision, and we speed further. My heart flies in my chest and bounces around in my ribcage.

  I am suddenly in the backseat with my brother; my mother and father are in the front. We’re laughing and talking about how clumsy our waiter was when bringing our food. Mom had just turn the radio onto pop when it happened.

  In the present, my throat constricts, and I can hear metal scraping against the pavement and taste thick, metallic blood and smell burned rubber.

  “Stop the car…stop the car!” I scream repeatedly until my throat is ripped raw and I’m suddenly on the side of the road, shaking. Literally shaking with my eyes closed. I close my hands around the loose gravel and try my hardest to calm my raging nerves. I want to stop everything and go back to driving recklessly with Grey and be in that electrifying moment we were in moments ago. I want to so badly…but I can’t stop the freaking tears or the fire burning my insides alive. It just won’t—

  “Stop,” I breathe.

  “Fuck, I am so sorry, princess. I didn’t know he’d do that.” I look over my shoulder and find Grey gripping his hair, his knuckles purely white, eyes wide, teeth bared. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking rip his head off.” He turns around, but I make a pathetic sound and grab his hand.

  “Stay,” I plead through heavy breathing.

  He bends down and rubs my back as I close my eyes again. “I’m getting you home. But I will beat his ass later.”

  “No, n-no. I’ll walk back. I can’t—I can’t.” I’m having a panic attack just thinking of setting foot in that car again.

  “I fucked up, I fucked up—Jesus, I am—fuck!” He’s smacking his head, and it’s enough to flip a switch to the part of me that cares more about him than my wellbeing. I grip his wrists and force him to look me in my eyes.

  “You’re not fucked up. Just—just take me home, please…” I try to reason with him.

  The emotion that lingers in his eyes is overwhelming. I can’t pinpoint one. But I catch a major glimpse of regret. He nods frantically and scoops me into his arms. I try to tell him that I can walk, but he stays silent and begins the long walk back to the party.

  ***

  Hours have passed, and we’re back at his apartment. My nerves are well under control, and I took my sleeping pills because I knew a nightmare was waiting for me, even if Grey was holding me. He’s usually my knight in shining obsidian, wielding a sword to protect me from the past trying to drag me under the currents of the raging storm within my mind. But after tonight and the frightening amount of emotions that overwhelmed me, there is no way I was getting scot free without it.

  I’m on the thin line of falling asleep when I hear it. The deafening sound of glass breaking. It pierces the air and my heart, sending me to my feet, running to the sound. Without finding the reason behind it, my mind already knows it’s Grey. He hasn’t been the same since the race.

  He’s…different. I knew it when I first saw the look of pure self-hatred behind his eyes. A switch was flicked—for the bad. He hasn’t spoken to me since he tucked me in, saying he just needed to. And I let him. I last felt him around me, but I dozed off for a few short seconds.

  I find him in the bathroom and nearly burst into tears. The mirror is completely smashed to pieces. Blood is smeared on the back of it; it’s scattered on the porcelain white sink and all over his clothes. He’s in the corner rocking back and forth. His clothes and hair are beyond disheveled, and tears well in his eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Grey!” I feel my heart plummet as I rush over to him. I bend down and run my fingers through his hair—it’s standing up like he’s been electrocuted—and cup his face. Tears stream down his cheeks. It absolutely shreds me to pieces seeing him like this.

  The only other time I’ve seen him break down like this was when he revealed his past surrounding his broken relationship with his mother and how messed up his childhood was. I want to hug him until they all disappear and protect him. I want them gone.

  What the hell happened?

  He mumbles incoherently, his jaw twitching and more tears falling.

  “Let me see your hands. Come on.” I grab his balled-up fists when he is hesitant to release them from his chest. I suck in a breath and glance at him through my lashes, trying to control my composure. He has officially shredded his knuckles to pieces. Blood surrounds them, and I think I shed a tear. I wipe it away and grab his cheeks. “What happened?”

  He shakes his head and fidgets with his hands. I gently hold his long fingers. He furrows his brows and wracks out a sob, his shoulders shaking and his eyes crinkling shut.

  “What—happened to you, Grey?” I ask again but this time through thick tears with confusion lacing around every syllable.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you like that,” he croaks, and I frown.

  “What?”

  He opens his eyes and jabs his fingers at
his temple. “Sometimes I just—I just lose my shit. Go bat crazy, but—but I don’t mean to. It’s just this fucking thing inside me…I’m sorry.”

  “There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about,” I tell him honestly. He shakes his head, and I gently tug at his fingers. “The disorder has you messed up, doesn’t it? Because you don’t take your pills?” I help him come to what he’s getting at.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I am trying my best for you,” he says with a sloped smile, “because you only deserve the best.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  He looks at me, confused. “What? Why not? It’s what you deserve. It’s what you need.”

  “No, what I need is for you to be real with me.” I pause and run my thumb over the back of his hand, just the way that calms him down. He once told me he becomes stable once I touch him. From the dazed look and smile tugging at his busted lips, I know he was telling the truth. “I want the good and the bad, or this wouldn’t be real. Don’t handle me like I’m a baby because I’m not. I can handle you both ways, Grey.”

  He stares at the ground for a long time. A strip of silence, with the exception of his deep breathing and my pounding heart, fills the air. I decide to clean him up while he thinks. I know not to push him for his thoughts, or he’ll just lash out again.

  So I stand up with his eyes on me, watching me wearily. I give him an assuring smile and walk over to the cabinet after getting a small nod of assurance from him. Retrieving a bandage wrap, alcohol, wet paper towel, and pain killers, I return.

  I examine the torn skin on both his sets of knuckles and hold back a wince. I gently dab his hands with the paper towel—he doesn’t cringe at all. He really doesn’t feel any pain…I don’t know why, but it saddens me to know that he doesn’t feel anything. Does he even feel when I kiss him? I’m tempted to ask, but not right now. Right now, I have to take care of him—it’s more important.

  I can feel his eyes piercing through my scalp as I focus on cleaning his knuckles. After they are mostly clean, I tear a piece of paper towel and press the alcohol bottle to it. Dampening a bit, I pull back and flick my eyes up to his, before pressing it to his right hand. Nothing. Then, to the other. Not even a little intake of breath.

  With a sigh, I begin to wrap the right. After I’m done with that hand, I move to the left. Once they’re both well bound and in place, I begin to stand.

  “I’m going to get some water for the pain pills,” I inform him, and he merely nods, still watching me with those dark eyes. I can’t help but blush under his gaze. He could look at me this way for a century, and I would never not be affected by them.

  When I return from the kitchen with a glass of water, I find him standing over the sink. Worried that he may injure himself more by flipping out, I slowly walk into the bathroom.

  “Grey, what are you…” I trail off when I see his disorder medication on the sink. Open. Did he really just…“Grey?” I walk over to him, and when I’m close to him, he turns his head and nods. My heart swells with so much emotion, I think a tear slips out of my eye. Damn period hormones. Either that or I’m overwhelmed with joy. Could be both.

  “I am so proud of you…” I admit, putting the water down before wrapping my arms around his waist.

  He hesitates, but I close my eyes in relief when he hugs me back. “I don’t ever want to lose you. I—I had to.”

  “You weren’t going to lose me either way.” He has to know that I love him more than anything by now. “You mean everything and more to me.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I take his sudden weight shifting onto me as a cue to get him in bed.

  “Okay, hold onto me.” I wrap an arm around his waist and help him back into the bedroom. It’s my turn to tuck him in. His light snores fill the air the moment his head hits the pillow. I laugh quietly and climb in next to him.

  “Good night, Grey,” I whisper softly before brushing a piece of hair out of his eyes and kiss his cheek. I lay my head against his warm chest and join him in sleep.

  ***

  I wake up with a start. The nightmare I saw coming has made my heart rate beat against my ears and my skin glow with sweat. I grasp the sheet and groan as my head pounds.

  “You okay?” Grey saunters into the room, and my heart stammers out of nowhere. He just took a shower, because he’s dripping wet with a towel draped around his hips. I shamelessly stare at his defined V-line and muscular physique. Sometimes I wonder how a man as attractive as him could have fallen for me. I like to think it’s because I was mostly resistant to his charms and was able to keep up with his confusing ass.

  “Might want to get a bucket.” He walks over to his dresser and pulls out a black t-shirt, as usual. I wonder if he has any clothing that isn’t just plain black…probably not.

  “What? Why?”

  He looks over his shoulder and chuckles. “Because I don’t want your drool making a mess on my pristine sheets.”

  “Shut up!” I pull the sheets to my chest as he snorts in laughter. I roll my eyes at his ever-endearing cockiness. “And it’s not exactly like they’re all that clean in the first place.” I bring it up to my nose and scrunch up my face. “It reeks of sex.”

  “Well, excuse me, but I’m not that the only one to blame for the that. Now am I, sex kitten?” He winks slyly at me, and I look away with red cheeks. No amount of time with him will ever make me immune to his mouth. His mouth on me, however, I can and have already gotten used to.

  “I made you toast,” he randomly says as he drops the towel. I look away, and he snickers like the asshole he is. He knows what he does to me and will always do to me—flush like a tomato. I think he’s too good looking for his own good.

  “Toast? What happened to your sudden fantastic skills that came out of nowhere? You know, the same skills you used when you made us dinner the other night?” I tease, knowing well enough that he ordered that food from a restaurant. He isn’t James Bond when it comes to suavity, since I found the receipt the moment we came in. But I guess his looks make up for that department.

  “That was a one-time thing. Keep up.” He winks.

  I smile even though my mind is running on last night. I still can’t believe he took his medication after such a long time of being off them. He told me that, after his father passed, he didn’t feel like “being treated as if he was broken” anymore, which is the opposite of what the pills do. But I think they’ll help stabilize him like they are supposed to. I want to ask him if he took them again this morning, but I don’t want to possibly upset him and cage him back in that mind-state that he doesn’t need them.

  I anxiously pick at the comforter and listen to my charms jingle slightly. “Did you, you know, take your—” I begin painfully slow, like I am expecting the worst, because, well, I sort of am. As much as I love this man, I know how easy it is for him to blow up and go off sulking and drinking and—and I don’t want that. But I also realize I have to learn not to walk on eggshells around him.

  He glances at me as he tugs on a pair of dark basketball shorts.

  “My crazy pills? Yes, I did,” he answers, and I slump with a frown. I don’t like it when he calls them that. They are supposed to help him, not label him as crazy.

  Either way, I relax the tiniest bit. He pulls on a gray tank top, and I frown when I realize he’s dressing to go somewhere.

  “Where are you going?” I can’t help but be curious. I don’t want to be clingy or anything; I just want to know. I have to go to classes anyway.

  “To the gym.” He groans as he sits at the edge of the bed with a pair of Nike sneakers.

  I crawl over and wrap my arms around his neck. “Are you sure you should be using your hands after last night?” I glance down at his bandage-wrapped hands and physically wince. “Speaking of which, I should actually put some ice on it. And have it elevated. Does it hurt beyond what you’re used to? Maybe you broke some bones—”

  “Babe, your concern is incredible. But—” He gra
bs one of my hands and kisses my knuckles. I smile faintly and compare my pure, soft, and unmarked knuckles to his bandaged ones and sigh. Why does he have to be so violent all the time? I swear I’m becoming motherly, worrying about him so much.

  “I can handle myself, seriously. I know my limits, and I know I can do a simple training. Plus, I need to get out and punch something. These damn pills are fucking with me, and I need to let it out.”

  “I understand.” I nod and peck his cheek. I smile against his dimple when it occurs to me what he said. “So,” I drawl out, tracing one of his many tattoos, “who are you training?”

  ***

  “Just move your hips—no, no—like this…yeah. Fuck, you are so good at that,” Grey coaxes in my ear. My body tenses up, and he notices, because he laughs, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise, if they weren’t up already, which I highly doubt.

  “Like this?” I move my hips as instructed and drive my fist forward.

  “Perfect,” he whispers haughtily in my ear.

  “Grey!” I giggle when he picks me up and spins me around before pressing my back into the punching bag behind me.

  When he said he was going to train that Mila girl again, something in me snapped, and I suggested he train me instead. He merely raised a brow and allowed it, letting a worker at the gym train her instead. What? Now that we’re concrete, I can’t just let him train another girl. I sound crazy and obsessive, but I honestly couldn’t care less. He’s my man.

  “Okay, show me the moves you remember,” he says as he lets me go and walks back a few inches.

  I raise an uneasy brow and chuckle. “You mean, like, right now?” I’m not going to lie, I wasn’t paying attention when he taught me his defensive and offensive moves. It’s kind of hard to concentrate with his large hands flush against my waist. I swear, now that I’m on my period, everything I feel is magnified. His touch blocked out his words.

  I doubt Mila can recite any moves he’s taught her. I sure can’t.