Chapter 133 MY LAST NERVE
Chapter 133 MY LAST NERVE
MICAH'S POV
No matter how much I try to deny it, ignore it, I can not deny it any longer.
I miss being pinned down, being desperately wanted by him until I'm overwhelmed in a good way, and can't think of anything else.
Ending the thing between us was supposed to be a clean cut, and reset for me. It was supposed to provide clarity and freedom for me, but instead I only feel starved and angry about it.
The next day follows the exact same pattern like yesterday, only it's much worse.
Dante shows up randomly in the library during the one open hour I have in between classes and labs.
He doesn't sit or even acknowledge me, he walks in and takes a table far away from me but just across the room, opens his laptop and works in silence.
I greedily take in the sight of him not looking at me, and working.
Now I'm actually studying him, he looks tired.
A part of my chest aches at how the usually calm and well rested Dante is now edgy and sporting dark circles under his eyes.
Even when I look away and try to focus, I can still feel him right there, across me the entire time.
When I give up on working and look up, he's already staring at me, making me curse and turn my gaze.
The calm and patient way he's been staring at me for days now, tells me he has not just been staring at me like some creep alone.
He's waiting for me to crack first.
But I don't.
I stayed strong for about forty more minutes, before giving up and leaving the library.
Thankfully or regretfully, he doesn't follow suit.
In hindsight, he doesn't even need to, the damage has already been done to me as my pulse stays racing and pulsing for the rest of the afternoon
Dante would make for a great hunter.
At practice when Max hits me once again harder than necessary, I merely just take it without drawing Coach's attention.
Dante’s head swivels and turns instantly when it happens, but he doesn't intervene.
He looks confused at my silence, but says nothing when I give him a pointed look before walking off.
But I notice how his expression darkens and how he glowers in Max's gloating
direction.
Somehow, the fact that he's holding himself back, and restraining himself because I want him to, feels even more intense than if he's stepped in.
I hate how I notice his restraint, and how a part of me wanted him to go violent on my behalf.
Micah of a few months ago would have cowered and hid when Max hit me, instead of fighting back or having people have his back.
What have I turned to in this school?
By the time I finally get back to the suite that night, I'm so tired and wound up like a tight string that my entire body aches.
Usually by this time Dante would've offered a full body massage I would've taken before it turned into something else.
But Dante is just there on the couch, scrolling through his phone for whatever he's looking at that's so interesting to him
Hmm!
He glances up when I enter, gives me that quiet look like it's all my fault and he's just there waiting with no pressure, before returning his gaze to whatever's so interesting on his screen.
No pressure, words or even anything to say to me?!
I go straight to the showers and turn it on to the coldest setting I can find, blasting it on and right over my shoulders.
It doesn't help though.
My body's still so alive and thrumming with everything it is NOT allowed to want.
Everything I'm not allowing myself to want or feel.
The independence I was so sure of choosing, and that felt necessary for my sanity back then feels too miserable for me now.
That and Max’s threats sit comfortably at the back of my head like a heavy stone sinking into water.
But the more heavier thing in my mind right now, is Dante’s quiet unspoken refusal to disappear or ignore me.
I press my forehead right against the cool tile and breathe slowly through my nose and mouth.
I can handle Max, and even stay away from Savannah all alone and by myself, I can learn to live with this quiet life I'm now experiencing in the suite and in my environment.
I just didn't expect how stark and lonely it is, and how missing him now equates to me starving something in my mind.
.
.
.
The next day, Max is grating on my nerves physically.
He doesn't do anything too big or flashy, he starts small.
He does little, and small things that don't qualify for my reaction if I even lash out at him.
During our morning sessions, he ‘accidentally’ lets a comment or two slip out loud enough for Tyler and two other players on the team to hear.
He says something about how some guys on the team seem so concerned and more focused on the drama happening off court, than on the scouts that'll be coming and sitting right on the stands next week
His eyes intentionally cut in my direction as he says it.
He doesn't stare long enough for anyone to catch on other than me, but he makes sure I hear and see the warning he's making to me.
Later, when everyone's changing in the lockers, he mentions to exactly no one about how we should all be careful about the kind of attention we draw or attract our way this next few weeks.
And how we're in our ‘important’ phase of our careers, so we should be careful not to fuck things up.
A couple of the guys slowly glance in my direction before shrugging and leaving.
This bastard…!
The pressure continues to build and sit on my chest like a vice placed directly on my chest, drawing out the breath from my lungs itself.