They Said He Hated Clingy Girls—So I Stopped… And He Didn’t Like It Chapter 08

They Said He Hated Clingy Girls—So I Stopped… And He Didn’t Like It Chapter 08

My mind was reeling. The words “break up” echoed in my head, and I couldn’t look at him. I turned and fled to the bedroom. For some reason I couldn’t explain, the image of Blaine bent over my laundry flashed in my mind. There had been faint scratches on his knuckles, the kind a cat leaves. We were out of Band-Aids. Going out to buy some gave me a reason to move, to breathe, to stop thinking. Blaine wasn’t the kind of person the comments made him out to be. I was sure of it. Of course, on the way back, the sky opened up. A car tore through a puddle and soaked me from the waist down.

Then someone clipped my shoulder in the rush, and I stumbled and fell. My knee scraped the pavement. I blinked hard against the sting of tears and clutched the box of Band-Aids to my chest. I gritted my teeth against the pain and started limping forward. Then a shadow fell over me as an umbrella tilted above my head. I looked up. Blaine. His jaw was tight, eyes stormy. He looked me over and let out a dark, disbelieving scoff. There was an edge in his voice. “Nora. Really? Running out in weather like this?” I opened my mouth to explain-but Blaine just shoved the umbrella into my hand.

“Hold it.” My fingers closed around it. Then he bent and scooped me up before I could react. I shifted against him, uneasy. “Blaine, I can walk.” He didn’t answer. He carried me to the car and set me in the passenger seat like that was the end of the discussion. Back at the apartment, Blaine dragged a hand through his wet hair and turned to face me. He looked wound tight all over. “You really want out that badly?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Did you think about where you’d go? What you’d do with all your stuff?

Did you even think about what it would do to someone if you just disappeared?” He exhaled sharply. “And if you were really set on leaving, at least give me some warning.” I stared at the floor and said nothing. I reached into my coat and pulled out the bandages. Somehow, I’d managed to keep them dry. “Blaine, I wasn’t running away,” I said. “Your hand was hurt. I went to get bandages.” A flash of something complicated crossed his face when our eyes met. He swallowed hard. He looked away. “You’re soaked,” he said, as if that were the only thing that mattered.

“I’ll run you a bath.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He just carried me to the bathroom and set me on the edge of the tub. He turned on the faucet, and steam soon hung thick in the air. I sat there, one leg propped up to keep my scraped knee dry, while Blaine’s eyes darkened as his hands moved to the hem of my wet shirt. When his hands reached my underwear, my hand shot out and caught his wrist. “I’ve got it. Please-just wait outside,” I whispered. Blaine frowned. His eyes dropped to my knee. “You can’t get that knee wet,” he said. “I’ll be careful,” I said. Blaine stepped back.

“Then I’ll come back to dry you off,” he said. I couldn’t have said who moved first. My mind was still spinning when Blaine wrapped me in a towel and carried me to bed. And then everything just blurred. Everywhere he touched, my skin ignited before I could stop it. He kissed my eyelids. His breath was warm against my skin, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pull away or lean in closer.