I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “What do you want me to say, Zayan? That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean for you to get involved? Because we both know that’s not true. You threw yourself into this because you wanted to. You chose this. Not me.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s not about what you asked or didn’t ask. You nearlydied, Gypsy. Nearly fucking died because of chasing the thrill.”
“So what?” I spit out.
My choices are not his to correct. They’re not even his to judge. I am my own judge. There is no one I answer to but myself.
“So I couldn’t let you do that!”
“And why not?” I fire back, stepping forward to close the space between us. “What gives you the right to decide how far I go or how much I risk? Who do you think you are?”
Zayan’s lips curl into a dark, twisted grin, and the fury in his eyes is matched only by the intensity of his voice. “Who do I think I am? I’m the one who knows you better than anyone else. The one who’s thrown himself into one suicidal situation after another with you. I fuckingseeyou, Gypsy. Always have. Always fucking will.”
I nearly stumble backwards, these words hit me so much. And then, for a moment, I feel like I’m suffocating. Like all air is gone from this room. He knows how to rip me apart without even trying. But the worst part? The part that makes my skin prickle with fury? Somewhere deep down, he’s not wrong.
Who else has ever gotten this close to me? Who else have I ever let slip past the walls I’ve spent my whole life building?
No one.
But that just makes the anger flare hotter in my chest. It’s not enough to burn. I want to break something, tear this entire room apart plank by plank, until there’s nothing left but rubble. But probably even that wouldn’t be enough.
“I don’t need saving,” I growl, my voice venomous. “I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t needanythingfrom you.”
“Oh, really?” His taunt is dripping with mockery, his grin widening like he’s savoring every second of this. “You really don’t?”
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. The fire in my veins ignites, and before I can think twice, I shove him hard, both hands slamming into his chest. He stumbles back, but before I can savor the moment, his hands shoot out and catch my wrists.
His hands are so warm they burn, searing through the anger, through the chaos, and goddamn it, if it doesn’t feel like that burn is exactly what I need. His grip pulls me in, his touch matching the fire in my blood, and for a split second, everything feels perfectly, horribly right.
I gasp. He freezes. And before long, his lips are on mine.
I can taste the fury on his lips, feel the tension in every desperate, heated movement. It’s not gentle. There’s no room for softness between us—there never has been. We’re too sharp, too broken, and this... this feels like a revelation in it all.
His grip tightens on my wrists, pulling me in closer, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away, and maybe he’s right to be. I shouldpull away. I should shove him off, scream at him, and let the anger burn away everything else that’s bubbling up beneath the surface. But instead, I let myself sink into the fire, let it scorch me from the inside out, because I don’t know what else to do with all thisfeeling.
When I finally break away, gasping for air, his forehead presses against mine, his breathing just as ragged, but there’s something else there too—something softer, something that terrifies me more than all the fire between us.
“You hate me, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice rough but low, almost vulnerable.
I want to say yes. I want to spit the word out like a curse, hurl it at him, but it won’t come. It’s stuck in my throat, choking me. All I can manage is a whisper. “I hate what you do to me.”
He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating between us. “Good. I hate what you do to me too.” His lips brush mine again, softer this time, as if testing the waters.
It’s too much. All of it. The fire, the anger, the confusion—it all swells inside me until I feel like I might break. I pull away sharply, needing space, needing air.
This has to end. This tension, this pull between us—it’s tearing me apart. Every time I think I’ve broken free, it yanks me right back. My heart’s still pounding in my chest, my breaths coming too fast, but I force the words out before they choke me.
“I meant what I said, Zayan,” I say. “I didn’t ask you to risk your life for me. You can’t hold it over me like some debt.”
He’s watching me closely now, too closely. The grin that always played at his lips is gone—there’s no mockery left in his expression. Just that damn focus, like he’s seeing straight through me.
It’s completely different from moments before.
“Alright,” he breathes.
”Imeanit,“ I say, though it comes out more desperate than I’d like. “You can’t keep throwing it in my face. I didn’t ask for this.”
He nods, slow, his eyes never leaving mine. “I know. Alright, I hear you. You didn’t ask.” His voice dips lower, quieter, and then, before I can stop him, his fingers are brushing against my skin. The touch is so gentle, it catches me off guard. His hand cups my face, forcing me to look at him, to really see him.
