Chapter 56: Holding Me Prisoner

Chapter 56: Holding Me Prisoner

Andy

“Maddie, is that really necessary?” My voice came out strained, pleading. I reached for her, but she jerked away like my touch burned. “You know I’m yours—”

“No!” She cut me off roughly, jabbing a shaking finger in my direction.

Her nail was perfectly manicured, the same soft pink she always wore, but right now it looked like it was on someone else.

“You’re not mine. Not anymore. You’re Ivy’s now.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

I flinched, the sting sharper than any injury from the lake. “Enough. Ivy has nothing to do with this. Let’s settle whatever this is. What do you need me to do? Let’s talk things—”

“I don’t want to talk, Andy!” Her voice cracked, raw and furious, tears already spilling down her flushed cheeks.

The mascara she had carefully applied for the party began to streak, black rivulets carving paths through her flawless makeup.

“All you do is avoid me! Treat me like a stranger! I’ve done nothing but be there for you. I spent night after night in that godawful hospital, sleeping in that horrible chair, holding your hand while machines beeped around you. But you? You kept your eyes on the ceiling. On the wall. Anywhere but me!”

The memory hit me hard—the irritating smell of antiseptic, the constant beeping of monitors, the weight of her hand in mine.

I had stared at the ceiling because every time I looked at her, guilt twisted deeper.

Guilt over Ivy. Over the forced kiss I couldn’t stop replaying. Over the way my body had reacted in ways it shouldn’t have while Maddie sat vigil.

“I nearly died, Maddie,” I said quietly, my throat tight. The words felt like an overused excuse even as I spoke them. “I don’t feel like myself. I need a little more time.”

“Let me be the judge of that, Andy.” Her voice dropped, dangerous and trembling. She stepped closer, her perfume—sweet jasmine and vanilla—wrapping around me like a familiar chain. “Let me decide if you’re really not feeling like yourself.”

“Don’t do this—”

“You don’t want to fuck me?” The crude word sounded foreign coming from her lips, sharp and jagged. She had always been so proper, so refined.

Hearing it now in this context, laced with pain, made my stomach churn.

I rubbed my forehead, the headache from earlier blooming into something vicious. “Please stop saying that word. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t care anymore!” She fisted my shirt, yanking me toward her. Her breath was warm against my face, her body heat pressing into mine. “You don’t want me because you want Ivy. Isn’t that it?”

I held onto her wrist, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse. “I’m tired, Maddie.”

“That’s not an excuse!” She shook her head, tears flying. “This is the same thing you’ve been saying for weeks. Every time I tried to cuddle, to snuggle close to you, you’d push me away and mumble about being tired or needing space. Like I’m some burden.”

“I’m not in the mood right now.” The sigh that escaped me was heavy with defeat. “Maddie, I can’t get it up. Not tonight. I’m sorry. There’s too much going on in my head.”

“You’re lying.” Her voice broke completely. “You don’t want to touch me. You don’t want me anymore.” She paused, something dark flickering across her face. “Remember that day at the hospital? You got hard thinking about me—” She froze.

The words hung between us, poisonous.

Her eyes widened in sudden horror as realization dawned. She slapped a hand over her mouth, gasping.

Then her palm cracked across my face.

The slap echoed in the quiet room, my cheek burning hot and stinging. The force snapped my head to the side.

Before I could recover, her fists pounded against my chest—weak, frantic hits that hurt far more than any physical blow.

“You bastard!” she cried, voice raw and shattered. “You were thinking about her, weren’t you?! That was for Ivy! Andy, you bastard!”

Each word landed like another slap. I stood there and took it, letting her hit me, letting the tears and rage pour out.

I deserved it. Every stinging impact, every sob that tore from her throat. I did this. I broke us.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered when her fists finally slowed, my voice hoarse. “I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m deeply sorry, baby.”

Watching her slide down the wall to the floor, curling into herself as sobs wracked her body, broke something inside me.

I dropped to my knees beside her, gathering her into my arms despite her weak resistance. Her hair smelled like the expensive shampoo she loved, her skin soft and damp with tears against my neck.

I held her tight, rocking her gently, my own eyes burning. “I’m sorry. I never meant to cause you pain. I’m so, so sorry.”

For a moment, she let me hold her. Her fingers clutched my shirt, and I felt the wetness of her tears soaking through.

The familiar weight of her in my arms stirred old memories—lazy Sunday mornings, stolen kisses in the car, the way she used to laugh at my every joke.

I loved her. I still did, in some fractured way. But it wasn’t enough anymore. Not when Ivy’s face haunted every quiet moment.

She pushed me away suddenly, scrambling to her feet. “I don’t need your apologies!” Her voice was thick with fury. “You’ve been fucking my sister behind my back and playing me for a fool all this time—”

“No.” I stood too, reaching for her but stopping short when she flinched. “I’ve never cheated on you. I’ve never slept with anyone else but you.”

“But you’ve kissed her?” The accusation sliced through the air. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, filled with a rage that made her look both breathtakingly beautiful and terrifying. “You’ve kissed my sister, haven’t you?”

I looked down at the floor, shame burning hotter than the slap. I couldn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t lie to her face while the memory of Ivy’s lips—soft, shocked, yielding for one devastating second—played on repeat in my mind. Every second. Every minute.

She slapped me again. Harder. My cheek throbbed, the skin hot and tight.

I deserved that too. Deserved all of it for being so damn stupid. For letting confusion, pride and jealousy twist me into someone I barely recognized.

“You were kissing my sister behind my back?” Maddie laughed, a broken, hysterical sound that tore at my heart. “I’m so stupid, aren’t I? I knew you ran straight to her the moment you got back. Silly me. I thought you just wanted to show your gratitude. Turns out I was the fool—setting the table for your party like an idiot while you were upstairs sucking faces with Ivy.”

“Don’t blame Ivy,” I said, shaking my head. My voice was rough, pleading. “It’s all me. She didn’t even want the kiss. She doesn’t want me. I forced it on her. She told me to stop.”

“You’re still defending her?” Maddie huffed, wiping her face angrily. Fresh tears spilled anyway. “Go on then. But that’s not going to stop me from going downstairs and telling everyone exactly what you two have been doing! How much of a slut Ivy is! And it’s not going to stop me from driving to Leo’s house right now!”

She spun toward the door, her hand on the knob. Panic surged through me.

If she went downstairs… if she told them… if she confronted Leo… Ivy would be destroyed. The fragile thing between us—whatever it was—would shatter. And Maddie would regret it in the morning, when the rage cooled and the damage was done.

I lunged forward and caught her wrist, yanking her back. “Don’t—”

“Don’t touch me!” She tried to wrench free, but I held firm.

I kissed her. Hard. Desperate. Harder than I ever had.

I pressed her back against the wall with my body, the impact knocking a surprised sound from her throat.

My mouth crashed down on hers, devouring, punishing, silencing. I tasted salt from her tears, the faint sweetness of the wine she’d been drinking downstairs.

My hands captured hers, pinning them above her head against the cool wall. Her body arched against mine—struggling at first, twisting, pushing—then softening just a fraction as muscle memory took over.

She fought me, lips sealed tight, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when Ivy’s future hung in the balance. Not when my own confusion threatened to drown us all.

I sucked the fight from her lips, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, my tongue demanding entry. One hand slid down to grip her waist, pulling her hips flush against me.

The heat of her body, the familiar curves, the way she still fit perfectly against me, it all rushed back.

For one blinding second, it felt like old times.

Her mouth yielded, a small whimper escaping as she kissed me back with equal ferocity, anger and hurt and lingering love pouring out. Her breasts pressed against my chest, her thigh sliding between mine.

I groaned into her mouth, the sound raw and broken.

But even as heat stirred low in my belly, my mind betrayed me. Ivy’s face flashed behind my closed eyes. Her shocked gasp during our kiss. The way she had gripped my arm—not pushing, not fully. The softness of her.

I pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against Maddie’s. Our breaths mingled, ragged and hot. Her lips were swollen, red, glistening. Tears still tracked down her cheeks.

“Andy…” she whispered, voice trembling. Confusion warred with desire in her eyes.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know who I was anymore. All I knew was that I couldn’t let her destroy Ivy. Couldn’t let this spiral further out of control.

So I kissed her again. Slower this time. Deeper. Pouring every conflicted emotion into it—regret, longing, desperation. Hoping it would be enough to hold her here. To buy time. To figure out the mess I had created.

Her hands stayed pinned above her head, but her fingers eventually curled around mine. Holding on. Or maybe holding me prisoner.

I didn’t know anymore.

And that terrified me most of all.