His hazel eyes pierced me, so sharp I felt like they left marks. A knot in my chest twisted tighter. “I’m…” A coward. “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t. I was the opposite of fine, and he knew it.
We finished eating, or I pretended to. My stomach felt like an acid pit, threatening to consume me. Menace looked as if he had all the time in the world, his arm resting casually on the back of the couch. His seeming indifference pushed me closer to the edge.
I rose and poured another glass of wine, clinging to the small hope that alcohol might calm my nerves. The kitchen was small, U-shaped, the island a peninsula. I didn’t turn around, waiting for the wine to stop sloshing. Waiting for my heart to stop pounding so hard I could hear it echo off the walls.
When I sat down again, he hadn’t moved. If he was impatient, he didn’t show it. But the set of his jaw and the narrowed line of his eyes left no doubt.
“Menace…” I hesitated. His name tasted bitter. It would be the last time I spoke it.
“You know, Sawyer is not my actual name.” It spilled out before I could stop it.
That caused him to move. His arm came down as he turned on the couch to face me. He gave a short nod, indicating he already knew that. Maybe he knew everything. The blood felt thin in my veins, my skin going pale and cold. I closed my eyes against the intensity of it. He was still in the same position when I opened them, waiting.
“There’s so much I have to tellyou.”
He didn’t blink, didn’t break his gaze.
“That I need to tell you.”
My voice cracked, my fingers wet against the wineglass.
“Start anywhere,” he said.
My heart was running faster than I ever could. I’d tried. “You’ll hate me,” I said.
He just looked at me, that hard hazel stare that seemed to see through layers I hadn’t even begun to uncover. “I could never.”
“Oh, I think you could.”
It was hard to say what felt heavier—my heart or my voice. They both struggled, gasping for breath.
“Have a little faith in me,” he said.
I was trembling again, but it didn’t matter. I had to get through this. “My entire life is a set of strings, all attached to someone else’s hand. All manipulated and jerked into a dance I’ve never been able to stop.”
His silence tore through me. I put the wineglass down, worried it would shatter. Everything felt close to breaking.
I forced myself to keep going, to move past the suffocating air and his stoic expression. “I never had any choices.”
A pause stretched between us, taut as a wire. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.
“Everything was decided for me. The clothes I wore. My hair color, length, style. Friends, schools, hobbies, everything. I never had any say. Everything was carefully curated specifically for me. To create the perfect daughter.” The person I was supposed to marry. “I thought…”
I thought he would have interrupted by now. His gaze was unflinching, cutting.
“Until finally there was a decision made for me, I would not allow. No one but myself would be the person who got to decide who I loved.Iwould be the person to decide whom I gave myself to. Me and me alone. There was only one way I thought I could be free. That was running.”
He still said nothing. The wine was still in my throat, acidic.
“Are you going to say anything?” I asked, voice hoarse.
“I’m allowing you to finish.”
He did not know how much it hurt to continue. No idea how heavy the truth was.
“I can’t,” I barely spoke.
