I Want You More Than I Should

I'm slouched in my chair in the room of the youth center, feet planted on the blue carpet, arms folded, glaring at Chase who will insist on making me talk today. What is wrong with this guy?

"No," I say for the third time. "My cravings have been a lot better. I'm not making that up. It hasn't been a struggle lately." What I don't tell him is that the binding is what's definitely satisfied the thing in my brain that always wants to be out of it. When Aiden gives me a dose of whatever that thing is with the power, he soothes the physical urge to swallow a pill. And the effects last for hours. It's the only thing that made being grounded bearable. Even when I'm not high, I feel better. For a while anyway.

But it's also fed something—the recklessness, the internal dance. I want to be bound more than I want to do pills. Which is the weirdest sensation. Especially knowing that it doesn't hurt me the way taking drugs will.

I found a healthy high! I mentally high five myself. Suddenly, I can see Aiden's hand on my skin, feel the warmth from his touch, the ease that happens inside me when he's binding me, and it makes me sigh.

Maybe I'm getting addicted to Aiden.

I'm pulled back into the present by Chase's stare. I realize I'm grinning and straighten my face.

His smooth, dark forehead pinches. "No addict just loses their cravings. You're holding back. Not telling us something. What are you afraid of?" he says, his voice rich with concern that bugs me.

"Nothing! Geez, Chase! I'm having a good week. That's something to celebrate. Stop nagging me."

My frustration burns, and that snaps into something alive, electricity on my skin. I shake my head, so pissed with Chase for making these last, final minutes of group painfully irritating. I glare at him as the charge . . . peaks.

He leans forward on his elbows. His eyes pin me to my chair. "We all signed a contract to be open here. To talk about what's really going on—even if we can't do that outside this room. It's good for us. You need to—"

"I don't need to do anything you say!" I snap. "You aren't my dad, or my boyfriend, or anyone else who has a right to get in my life!"

"Kate," Trista breaks in, frowning. "We all have the right. That's the purpose of being in this room."

"Yeah, but that's to help people," I throw back. "He's just pissed because I'm hanging out with someone he doesn't like and he's trying to make me look bad here so—"

"I'm trying to help you stay safe. Aiden won't do that. He'll put you in bad situations and make anything you're dealing with worse."

"Oh, for f—"

"Contract!" Trista trills.

I cut myself off, gritting my teeth. We've made an agreement not to swear in this room. It's ridiculous. But I can't afford to get kicked out otherwise my parents'll change their minds on keeping me home. They refused to let me change, saying if I was feeling pressured, that was probably a good thing.

I just want out of this place. To ride the roller-coaster of power. To be wherever Aiden is.

The thought echoes in my head, like a voice from outside myself. I scoff. So, of course, everyone thinks I'm scoffing at Chase.

"When someone cares about your welfare, Kate, it's a good thing. Some people try to give you advice, push you out of your comfort zone, for their own purposes. They tell you things to manipulate you. But someone who'll risk your relationship in order to tell you the truth—who puts your best interest at the forefront even if it costs them something . . . that's an act of love."

My mouth falls open. Love? She's talking to me about love?

Trista's lips thin. "Not that kind of love. Just love. Someone who cares because of who you are, not what you do. That's valuable, Kate. Don't push it away."

Chase shifts in his seat, staring at the wall instead of me or Trista. Which part of that little exchange made him squirm?

The clock over the door ticks to five-thirty and I leap out of my chair. "I've got an appointment," I say, grabbing my bag. I have to go."

Trista sighs, but nods. "Okay, I guess that's us for today . . ." she gives a little pep talk, raising her voice to be heard over the hubbub of the others packing up their things too.

Group is over. I've done what I promised I'd do. Practically jogging, I cross the room towards the door, ignoring all of it. Especially the part where Trista leans into Chase, patting his shoulder and talking in a low voice.

Glancing at me.

I'm out of the youth center and on the sidewalk before I remember I haven't checked my phone. Aiden was meant to text me. Maybe I can kill an evening flirting with him.

I stop dead on the cement and pull my phone out of my pocket, tapping in the lock code and checking my notifications.

Nothing.

I swear. Growling curses on him, I pull up the text thread and start typing a text to Aiden.

What are you up to this weekend?

The little bubble flickers its dots for a second, then tells me the message is sent. Sighing, I decide to wait in the car—just as the door into the center squeaks open behind me and I know. I know.

Sure enough, when I glance over my shoulder Chase is holding the door open for a handful of the others in the group. But he's staring at me, grim-faced.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. He has no right—

"Problem, beautiful?"

I startle and whirl.

Long and lean, hard as iron, Aiden slouches against the hood of my car picking at his nails, one heel resting on my bumper.