Chapter 33

JUDE

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Oliver’s bathroom smelt like it had recently been the warzone of a perfume nuclear warfare.

Everything smelt like candy, rose, and a bunch of other sweet-smelling scents that immediately brutalised my nostrils the moment I stepped in the bathroom.

I clenched a towel that Oliver’s mom had given to me, suddenly contemplating leaving. I was starting to find the other non-functional bathroom downstairs incredibly appealing.

I glanced at the set of clothes in my hands. Oliver’s mom had given me some fresh clothes – a grey T-Shirt and some white cotton pants – stating something like, “I brought these for Oliver a long time ago and they were too big for him. They might fit you.” I’d been partially convinced that she wouldn’t find any clothes fit for me as I was way taller than Oliver, but consider me surprised.

I closed the door and set the fresh set of clothes on a stand beside the entrance. My eyes scanned the place slowly, like I was savouring the place, which I was. The bathroom had sparkling white ceramic, gold fixtures, and an intricate tilework on its walls and floors that gave it this opulent, timeless feel. A bathtub was situated at the corner with a metallic shower fixed beside it, all encased in a glass cube.

A mirror was fixed a few feet from the glass cube. Below it lay a wooden shelf filled with dozens of skincare products. When I looked down, I realised I’d been stepping on a soft, fluffy, layered, purple mat, which made my feet feel like I was standing on a cloud.

It was like I’d stepped into my sister’s bathroom – if I had one – though I wasn’t bothered by how it looked. In fact, it looked amazing.

However, what bothered me to the core was how it smelled. By this time, my nose was already used to the sweet scent, but I don’t mean it was making me gag or anything; the rosy, fruity scent was also amazing.

No. What I realised was I’d smelled this scent before. I’d noticed it countless times whenever I passed Oliver. I’d smelt it when he was on top of me in the night we did the dare. And I’d smelt it again when we were stuck in the bathroom stall together. And again when we kissed….

And it smelled so good. He smelled so good.

The jeans I was wearing began to tighten. I cursed before breathing in deeply. There was no way I was going to get hard. Not here.

I clenched my jaw and froze.

One minute passed. Two minutes…

My body began to relax. Once I was sure I was fine, I stripped myself of the clothes I had on before sliding open the glass cube and standing below the shower.

The scent was even stronger in there. It reminded me so much of Oliver that, for a moment, I actually believed he was right there beside me.

I shut my eyes. Images I’d locked at the back of my mind began to resurface: Oliver and I stuck at that bathroom stall, my eyes on his lips. I’d finally kissed them a week or so ago, but I wanted to do it again. I wanted to kiss him so badly that my throat ached with need.

The fruity scent enveloped me, and it was like he was actually hugging me, stroking my back, licking my chest…

My eyes flicked open, and I looked down. I was definitely hard. And not just hard. Rock hard. I was absolutely throbbing.

Shit. Get a hold of yourself, Jude.

I inhaled before releasing a shaky breath and quickly turned on the shower.

Maybe the cold water will cool things off…

I stood there, letting the water run down my back. A shiver ran through me. I let my face and chest get doused in that frigid water. Rivers of ice burrowed its way down my body…

But it wasn’t working.

I was still hard as fuck.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My fists clenched.

Should I stroke myself?

Dammit Judah. It’s just a scent. Why are you this worked up?

My hand inched towards my dick before I drew it away quickly. I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to fucking jerk off in Oliver’s bathroom.

I just wasn’t.

Think of something. Anything. Underwears, socks, running, I thought desperately.

Five minutes passed. The water was still running. I was completely soaked, but my head was now thinking of anything but Oliver which was a good thing. My body was now completely relaxed again.

Thank God.

I scrubbed myself thoroughly with soap which smelled like eucalyptus; nothing like Oliver’s scent, which was such a relief. Afterwards, I rinsed myself before closing the shower.

I inhaled once again. Oliver’s scent was still prominent but more bearable now.

I grabbed the towel and dried myself
Once I was done, I picked up the T shirt and pants and smelled them to see if they had an inkling of that heady, exotic fruity scent. They didn’t.

I exhaled in relief before frowning. I couldn’t believe something as simple as a smell could make me almost…

I shook my head. This whole situation with Oliver was going to drive me insane.

I proceeded to wear the clothes before exiting the bathroom… and I stopped in my tracks.

My eyes were fixed on the bed. Oliver was still on it… but he was awake. Or rather, he was waking up. He stretched his arms upwards before sitting upright and rubbing his eyes groggily. By this time, the sun was already up and it was 10 or 11 in the morning, by the looks of outside.

Sunlight streamed into the room, lighting up Oliver’s face and hair so much it turned his chestnut hair absolutely golden. His cheeks glowed like the winter sun.

My breath hitched. He shook the duvet off him almost unconsciously, exposing his shorts which had hiked up so much in his sleep that I was practically seeing his entire thighs.

My pants tightened. Before I realised it, I was rock hard again. I was wearing cotton pants. He’d absolutely see the bulge in my pants once he opened his eyes.

Shit.

I turned and sprinted back to the bathroom before locking it.

“Jude?” I heard him say. “Is something wrong?”

I leaned against the door, my chest heaving. I was already sweating and I’d just showered. 

Great. Just fucking great.

After a hot minute, I cleared my throat. “I just… had to dry my hair off. It was still wet.”

He didn’t respond. Maybe he could sense the shakiness in my voice.

Fucking hell. What was wrong with me?

I shook my head. I had to calm myself down which was easier said than done. I couldn’t take another shower so I shut my eyes and focused on counting backwards from 50 to 1. Anything to help me calm my raging boner.

On the 22nd count, I could feel my vigour recede. I clenched my fist before scratching my head in pure, utter frustration. What the hell was happening to me? I needed to get out of here.

After another minute, I stared at the door, a wave of determiniation riding through me. I took a deep breath, clenched my fists before exiting the bathroom once more…

Oliver was still sitting on the bed, though he was more alert now. He’d somehow decided to straighten his shorts because I wasn’t seeing as much skin as I had but I couldn’t look at his face. I didn’t trust my body anymore.

His hand grabbed at his teddybear by his side.

My voice came out, low and throaty. “Nice Teddybear.” I was breathing hard. Shit. Did he notice?

At that statement, Oliver suddenly began to fumble with it before hiding it behind his back. “I- it’s not-“

He searched for more words but they seemed to have eluded him. Any thoughts of getting out of here as fast as possible disappeared. For some reason, I was enjoying how flustered he was becoming but I didn’t say a thing.

It was still so mind-boggling that he had a stuffed animal that it eased my nerves causing me to nearly break into a laugh.

Olliebear, I thought teasingly but I didn’t dare call him that out loud. I realised it would have been so bad, with me teasing him, jabbing at him in the past to try and tease him about something that seemed sentimental to him.

A storm of hurt and regret swirled in me that I’d been that way to him, especially after what he did to me last night.

Should I say ‘I’m sorry’ ?

But the words couldn’t get out of my mouth.

After a minute or so, he seemed to relax. I could feel his gaze on me, but I couldn’t meet it. The air turned awkward.

“I… I wanted to thank you,” he blurted after a long moment.

He began fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt, right at the bottom. “For…”

I waited.

“For saving me from Lionel,” he finally confessed. “I realised I never thanked you for that.”

“He deserved way worse than what I did to him.”

I could definitely feel his gaze on me now, but I didn’t care. Any guy or girl who touched others without their consent deserved to be boiled alive. My only regret is that I hadn’t arrived earlier to stop him.

Oliver’s voice turned soft and brittle. “I also wanted to thank you for helping me at Rockwater mall. I…I…I said some things at the heat of the moment that shouldn’t have been said.”

My eyes leapt to his face at that moment but he was looking down. His face was now a huge tomato.

I waited but he didn’t say more. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what he meant. It didn’t escape me that he avoided any mention of our kiss entirely.

So what did he mean by that?

Then it hit me. He’d said something about how our kiss could wipe away Lionel’s touch. I’d completely forgotten about that, but it seemed it was still bothering him that he confessed that to me.

I met his eyes and a look of understanding passed between us.

I shrugged. “It’s fine. You were in a… vulnerable state. It’s normal to say things you don’t mean.”

I’d carefully avoided the word ‘panic attack’ and Oliver seemed to notice that too. He gave me a grateful smile, which made my heart flutter.

A distant part of me wondered if that was how I looked yesterday when he’d comforted me beyond imaginable relief. I hadn’t let him see my face during my mental breakdown, afraid that what was written on it would be too raw and vulnerable to let anyone see but I had grabbed his hand. He had been my literal anchor to reality.

Before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Thank you too. For last night.” I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. “You-you saved me too.”

The words were short and brief but filled with thick emotion.

A part of me forced out the words because they were too… raw. Vulnerable. I didn’t like how dependent they made me look. But the look on Oliver’s face made me completely glad I said them. His eyes brightened, like a someone had shone a sharp light through an emerald making it scatter green light. A genuine smile crept its way into its lips.

But then, he frowned. “I never knew it hurt you like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Losing your dad,” he mumbled, “I mean … it was obvious when Rick mourned him. You could see he was hurt. I just never noticed it with you.”

“I was running away from my pain. And hiding it by being -“

“Indifferent, uncaring, a total douchebag?”

I was slightly ticked off by that last one, but I said, “Yeah. You can add taking alcohol and drugs on that list, too.”

Oliver’s eyes darkened. “You need to stop taking those as a way to cope.”

My jaw clenched. I wanted to say it was none of his business. The Jude from a week or a month ago would have rolled those words off my tongue with ease, but now… It just wasn’t in me. I tried searching for some malice, but it evaded me.

Oliver started to say something else but apparently thought better of it. Then his hand came to his neck, making a rush of annoyance go through me.

There was something going on with him. And a part of me suspected it happened in Velvet Underground. Something to do with me.

Did I touch him when I was drunk? I hadn’t exactly been in control of myself and I could only remember flashes of that whole ordeal but if I did touch him in any way…

The rush of annoyance turned into a cold feeling. Oliver was experiencing panic attacks because of Lionel. If I did touch him without his permission…

No. I couldn’t live with that. I didn’t want to believe it was true even if he refused to tell me what might have transpired. If I did, I would face the possibility that I was similar to Lionel. A sexual assaulter.

I suddenly realised the cold feeling was fear. I was scared. Scared that I had touched Oliver, possibly overpowered him. Just like Lionel had done.

Shit. I could feel my heart begin to race before I calmed myself down. The urge to ask Oliver what happened was becoming too huge, but he clearly wasn’t planning on telling me. And I didn’t want to pester him.

Oliver was clearly noticing the shift in my demeanour. He frowned, about to ask me something, but I couldn’t let that happen.

“What’s that book?” I pointed towards a peculiar book stacked amongst others on the lowest shelf I could see near Oliver’s bed.

“What do you mean?” He followed my finger and gaze. I’d called it peculiar because it was angled and positioned in a way that was different from other books; positioned in a way that made it stand out.

Oliver suddenly got a bright gleam in his eyes that made him look almost dreamy. He crossed his legs. “That’s the Highborn series. Specifically, book 2.”

“What is it about?” I inquired, partially to direct his attention away from what he was about to ask and partially because his expression and energy had shifted so much it was affecting me too, chasing away the fear I had.

His eyes were dancing with energy from my question, like he’d been waiting for anyone, absolutely anyone, to ask him about it. “It’s about this prince who falls in love with this pretty peasant. She knows she’s too low in terms of class to get together with him, so she goes to ths dark witch – which, by the way, was a pretty dumb idea – in order to turn herself into a duchess. They struck a deal and you would think all goes well, right?”

I nodded, absolutely knowing that it was a rhetoric question, but I couldn’t help it. I’d never seen him like this at all. The gleam in his eye only got brighter as he continued. I was dumbfounded.

“That’s what you would think,” he shrieked and kicked his feet. “But here is where it gets interesting. We later come to find out in book 2 -” he pointed at it, “- that the deal contained a small technicality that allows the witch to control the peasant every time she turned into a duchess. You see, the witch had an ulterior motive to take over the kingdom, but she was banished. And so she needed something that could be linked to a royal member and here is where the prince comes in because since he’s in love with the peasant, the witch can use the peasant to achieve her plans and…”

Oliver continued rambling but I didn’t hear the rest. A huge smile had crept its way into his lips the more he talked. His eyes gleamed with so much intensity it made my heart race with excitement. When he slightly angled his head as he rambled on, the green in his eyes caught flecks of sunlight from the window, causing them to burst with gold sparks.

Unconsciously, I moved closer to him. My hands twitched as I watched him ramble on and on, unable to wrench my gaze off him. His face was filled with so much joy that at that moment, I wanted to , more than anything, keep that expression on him for eternity. I wanted to hear him talk about that book until I turned to stone.

“And finally,” he finished, completely out of breath. “The second book ended in this a-maziiing cliffhanger where the prince finds out the peasant was behind all that- and vows never to trust her again. And – Jude?”

His voice seemed to be coming from the end of a long pipe.

“Jude.”

I didn’t respond.

“Judah!”

I blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Huh?”

“You’re kind of giving me a funny look. It’s…” he didn’t finish but I thought he was about to say ‘creepy’.

I cleared my throat. “It’s… it’s nothing. Sorry.”

He quirked an eyebrow, sending a sharp pang of indescribable emotion through my chest. Then I realised it. I was feeling disappointed. Disappointed that he’d stopped talking, that the elated expression on his face had disappeared.

“Were you even listening?” He sounded mildly annoyed.

Before I could answer, he stopped me with a hand before sighing. “I get it. I was yapping too much. Casey says I get verbal diarrhoea when I talk about my books.” He blushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

I wanted to say he was anything but uncomfortable, but my throat clogged up. I couldn’t squeeze a word out for the life of me.

Before I could keep standing there like an idiot for god knows when, there was a knock on the door. “Oliver? Jude?”

“Come in, mom.”

The door flung open to reveal Oliver’s mom. She’d changed into a pair of trousers and a loose black top.

“It’s way past time for breakfast, and you haven’t eaten.” She cast reprimanding looks at us. Oliver cringed.

“Glad to see you’re fresh and clean now, Judah.”

I summoned just enough mental clarity to nod.

“Come on,” she nodded, “let’s go eat.”

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Jude is so downbad I’m CACKLING.