Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 29: Stupid Heart

Justin’s POV:

I had told her I wanted her. Simple, direct. But when she said she needed to think about it... I knew that was her way of trying to keep control. Of course, I wasn’t going to pressure her. She had her own demons, and whatever this was between us—whether it was just a fleeting moment or something more—she needed time to process it.

She’d gone into the bathroom, and I had to respect that. It gave me a minute to gather my thoughts, though the truth was, I wasn’t sure how to make sense of what had happened. All I knew was that I couldn’t seem to shake her from my mind.

I stood up, pulled on my jeans, and moved toward the closet. My mind kept drifting back to her, to the way she looked tangled in my sheets, the way her breath hitched when she said my name. Fuck, I was already thinking about how it would feel when she was back in my arms again.

I grabbed a t-shirt and some sweatpants, setting them on the bed. I didn’t know what else to do. It felt strange, making her a place in my life when I had spent so long shutting people out. This—whatever this was—wasn’t supposed to be simple. But damn, it felt like I was already in deeper than I expected.

When I finished laying the clothes out, I walked into the kitchen. It felt different now, knowing she had been here, knowing that this house, these rooms, would never feel the same. It wasn’t just a one-night thing for me. And hell, maybe it wasn’t for her either, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had already crossed a line.

As I rummaged through the fridge, I tried to focus on making something to eat. The kitchen was quiet, but it wasn’t the same. Now, everything reminded me of her—how she had looked in my arms, how her body had moved against mine. I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk through this space without remembering her, without feeling the heat of our shared moments.

Great, now I wouldn’t be able to sleep in my bed without thinking of her, nor would I be able to cook in the kitchen without her presence lingering in the air. Everything would remind me of her—the way she felt, the way she looked, the way she’d been in my arms.

It was the weekend, and there were no classes. I wasn’t sure if she’d be going back to her place or staying at mine again. Usually, my weekends were simple—sleeping in until late afternoon, grabbing something to eat, finding a series to binge, and then heading to the club when I needed to clear my head.

But now, I wasn’t sure. One thing I did know for sure was that my morning had started perfectly—well, with a nice, intense fuck. It could either get better or worse, but for now, I figured I’d just go with the flow.

What I did know for sure was that I was hungry, and I figured she probably was too. I grabbed some eggs and flour. Pancakes sounded nice.

June emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants I’d left out for her. The clothes were huge on her, the sleeves hanging past her wrists and the waistband of the sweatpants nearly reaching her ribs. But despite how baggy everything was, she looked cute—like something I wanted to protect.

I tried not to focus too much on the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The thin fabric of the shirt hugged her body in a way that made her nipples noticeable, and for a split second, I could feel myself getting distracted. I gulped down my thoughts, pushing them aside as she made her way over to the kitchen.

We sat down at the table, the silence between us comfortable, though there was still something hanging in the air that neither of us had fully addressed yet. She was eating, and so was I, but my mind kept wandering back to the way she looked—soft and vulnerable but still strong in her own way. Something had shifted. I wasn’t sure what exactly, but I could feel it.

After we finished breakfast, she leaned back on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, and patted the space next to her. "Wanna watch a movie?" she asked, her voice light, almost as if we hadn’t just shared something intense in the early hours of the morning.

I smiled, not really sure if I was reading this situation right, but not caring too much either. "Yeah, sounds good."

I grabbed the remote, settling down beside her. She didn’t hesitate to curl into my side, her head resting on my shoulder as the movie began. For a while, neither of us said anything. The weight of everything that had happened seemed to be suspended in the room.

I wasn’t sure what to make of it—her being here, me wanting to hold her, the silence between us that wasn’t awkward but felt full of unspoken words. But one thing was clear: she wasn’t leaving.

And part of me, despite everything, was okay with that.

As the movie played on, June shifted slightly beside me, her breathing growing slower, deeper. Her body relaxed more and more until, without warning, she was asleep. I glanced down at her, smiling softly to myself. Guess our morning indulgence really had been a workout after all.

Her head was still resting on my shoulder, and she looked peaceful now, the soft rhythm of her breathing steady. I couldn’t help but feel protective, this quiet, calm version of her so different from the whirlwind we’d just shared.

I adjusted my position slightly so I wouldn’t disturb her, careful not to shift too much as I tried to get comfortable with her there. Part of me just wanted to savor the moment, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the softness of her hair against my cheek. It was weird, how much I enjoyed having her close like this.

Her peaceful expression reminded me of the girl I didn’t know—the one beneath the tough exterior, the one who had shown up at my place and thrown herself into everything. The one who, now, looked so vulnerable as she slept. I realized then how much I wanted to protect that version of her, the one who was more than just the fierce, confident persona she put out into the world.

I didn’t move. Instead, I just let the movie play, my thoughts drifting as I watched her sleep. The silence between us felt different now, more settled, more... right, in a way.

All the bitterness I had for her leaving me, for walking away without a second thought, was starting to fade away. As I sat there with her curled up beside me, I realized how much time I’d spent holding onto that anger, like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. But now, with her here, it didn’t feel as important. The resentment seemed so small, so distant, compared to the way her presence filled up the space beside me.

It was hard to admit, but I couldn’t deny it. Part of me had been angry at her for running, for avoiding what had happened between us, for pretending like I didn’t matter. But now, watching her sleep so peacefully in my arms, the feelings were... softer. Less raw. Maybe it was the vulnerability in the way she rested against me, or the fact that, in some strange way, we were starting to find something real between us. Something deeper than the tension and confusion that had clouded everything before.

I hadn’t expected any of this. I hadn’t expected her to come back into my life, much less end up here, in my bed, looking like she belonged there. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t want to hold onto the bitterness anymore. It didn’t serve me, and it didn’t serve her. I didn’t know what exactly this was between us, but I wasn’t ready to let it slip away just because of a past I couldn’t change.

I watched her face, the way her features softened in sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Maybe we didn’t have all the answers. Maybe we weren’t even close to figuring things out. But in this moment, in the quiet warmth between us, I felt like there was still something worth exploring.

And for the first time in a long time, I found myself not regretting the past, but wondering what the future might hold instead.

She was the only person whose touch didn’t make my skin crawl—whose hold didn’t make me flinch or pull away. The only one whose arms I leaned into instead of resisting. Yeah, I’d fucked a couple of girls before—had my fair share of meaningless hookups—but I never let them hold me after. Never let them cuddle. Never let them stay. I only bared their touch for the sake of release—just a way to shut down the noise in my head for a few minutes. I didn’t want their affection. Didn’t trust it. Didn’t need it.

But now... with June... there was something different. Something happening under my skin that I couldn’t explain or deny. Even human interaction—basic closeness—wasn’t something I accepted easily. Not without a price. Not after everything. Not after what I’d survived.

All my childhood, every human connection came with a blade hidden behind the smile. Pain. Betrayal. Abuse. That was the rule. The only one I learned early and learned well.

In the lab, you weren’t supposed to care for anyone. Caring got you killed—or worse. If they saw you getting attached, they marked it. Your weakness. Your Achilles’ heel. And once they found it, they used it. They’d threaten the one person you cared for to make you cooperate. To make you submit. To make you crawl willingly into their next sadistic experiment. That’s how they broke us. Not just with violence—but with the illusion of connection.

The other interactions—if you could even call them that—were worse. The guards? They’d pretend to pity you. Act like they were different. Offer you scraps of fake kindness. Just enough to lure you in. They pretended to be kind, like they cared. They’d show you small favors—letting you eat a little more, letting you sleep a little longer—just enough to make you believe they were on your side. But eventually, you learned. Those small gestures? They weren’t about kindness. They were about getting you to lower your guard, about making you think you could trust them. And when you did, when you let yourself believe in that lie, they’d turn on you. Then they’d hurt you. Rape you. Touch you in ways that want to make you skin yourself. Strip away what little trust you had left. Make sure the lesson stuck: don’t trust. Don’t hope. Don’t reach for comfort—it always has claws.

And the other subjects? The ones who shared your pain? Your so-called friends? The ones you thought were your peers, your fellow captives. You’d bond with them over shared trauma, shared suffering. You’d start to think that maybe, just maybe, they understood. That was the biggest betrayal of all. You thought they understood. You thought they were like you. But all it took was one twisted offer of favor, one promise of food or rest or mercy, and they’d sell you out. They’d do whatever it took to survive, even if that meant using you. Even if it meant throwing you under the bus to get a few extra points, a little more favor with the higher-ups. Everyone had their price. Every damn time. Just to climb one rung higher in the hell we lived in.

So yeah. I didn’t do trust. I didn’t do closeness. I didn’t let people in.

And yet here I was. Again. Letting her into my space. My home. My mind. My body.

I let her stay. I let her touch me. I let her look at me like I was someone who could be more. And worse—I let myself believe it. Even after everything. Even knowing how this road always ended.

Number 12.

The one who said she’d come for me. Who looked me in the eye and promised. Who swore she’d bring help. Swore I wasn’t alone. I believed her. I waited. Six long fucking years I waited—chained to hope like a fool. But help never came. Not from her.

I thought maybe something had happened to her. Maybe she had been recaptured. Or maybe... maybe she was dead. That was a thought that haunted me. But no. She was alive. I found her. I made excuses for her because the alternative—that she abandoned me—was too cruel to face.

But then we were saved. And it wasn’t because of her.

I tracked her down. I had to know. Had to see for myself. And there she was—living as the golden daughter of some wealthy, influential parents. Clean. Comfortable. Safe. Like none of it had ever touched her. Like the lab never existed. Like I never existed.

And when I joined her school?

She didn’t even recognize me.

Didn’t give a single fuck about the promises she made. Too busy being perfect. Too busy being adored. Too busy pretending that the rest of us didn’t matter. That we were just ghosts from a past she erased. She was too busy being the golden girl—the one everyone admired, the one everyone wanted to be.

And now I was doing it again.

Letting someone in.

Opening myself up.

And not just anyone.

It was June.

Number 12.

The one who said she’d come for me. The one who promised she’d bring help.

All because I got to fuck her twice. Just because she let me touch her and kissed me like I wasn’t broken inside.

God, I was stupid. So fucking stupid.

I could already feel the pain curling beneath the surface. The part of me that knew better screaming at me to shut it down. To walk away before it crushed me.

But the heart... the heart wants what it wants.

Even when it shouldn’t.

Even when it knows better.

Even when it costs everything.