In Between Times (Complete Novel, Mastered May 12th, 2022)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

— rude

I Don't Like You – Grace VanderWaal ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬

AMELIA:

"What the fuck?" I glare at Chaise as I close my bedroom door behind me. "You have about ten seconds to walk away from me — before I cause you permanent bodily harm," I growl, as I run my eyes angrily over his casual appearance. He's so rude for doing this to me.

He's about to be casually unconscious, and lifeless on the floor in front of me.

He shakes his head at me. "There is a guy in your room, and I'm not okay with it."

He tries to walk past me through the sliver of room there, but I block him.

"Get out of my way, Amelia," he speaks in a calm voice that makes me want to choke him where he stands.

I push him against his chest with both of my hands, but he doesn't move. He flares his nostrils at me as he takes a small step back.

He eyes me for a second, annoyed. "You know, I had to suggest Callie go home a few minutes ago, because you were occupied in your room."

"I'll call her later, jackass. Callie is my best friend. She'll understand."

He rolls his eyes at me.

"Who's in there?" he raises his voice slightly, as he folds his arms over his chest.

"What are you talking about?" I narrow my eyes at him, as I mimic his gesture and cross my arms over my chest.

"Now is not the time to be playing games," he speaks slow and steady. "I should know by now that you have a boyfriend," he whispers, as his eyes flick to the doorknob. He rubs his hands through his hair in frustration.

I press my back softly against the door as I shake my head in disbelief towards my brother.

"I don't have a boyfriend," I whisper to him.

Parrish isn't my boyfriend just because I had sex with him. I want him in my life, but I'm not ready for that kind of label to be held above me. I doubt I'll ever be ready to be someone's girlfriend.

"So, you're fucking random guys now?" he asks in a high-pitched voice, and I can't stop my hand as it moves in a forceful motion towards Chaise's jaw.

His face jerks to the side slightly as my hand smacks roughly against it. A sharp sting shoots through my palm as I draw back and swing my hand back and forth at my side, trying to diminish the stingy pain.

I had to jump a little to reach his face, which slightly dimmed the aggression of it — but he knows he did something wrong here.

Chaise gapes at me.

"Asshole." I clinch my teeth as my hands fist at my sides.

"Just because you're going through a hard time right now does not mean it's okay for you to act like a whor—"

"Go to hell, Chaise!" I yell. "I'm not acting like anything," I hiss through my teeth.

"Then what is going on?" he asks curiously in a hushed voice, as he tilts his head to the side, and gestures his arms out in front of him.

I grimace, as my eyes drift away from his.

"I'm healing. You need to mind your own damn business. I don't give a shit about who you're fucking." I narrow my eyes at him.

"You interrupted my deflowering, by the way," I say, motioning my thumb towards my bedroom door. "But that is none of your business. Who I'm fucking and how often I do it is none of your business," I sigh.