He lifts an eyebrow, his expression dangerous and calm. "Except what?"
"Except me," I say, quieter now, almost an accusation.
He looks away, and for a second, I see something like shame flicker over his face.
"You've been doing this since I was eighteen," I say, the words spilling out. "Remember Jude? You dismantled his motorcycle because he was going to take me out. Gregory at NYU? You destroyed his car and then wrote a fucking warning in blood on the windshield. And then there was Pete. You had him arrested. Then there was Alec, the guy whose company you now own. And let's not forget Garrett, the photographer who flirted with me atthe gala. He probably hasn't had a job since that night. Do you even remember their names, Asher?"
He winces before shrugging off the question. "Their names are irrelevant, Brielle. They shouldn't have tried to touch you."
"I'm not a thing you can keep in a fucking box!" I shout. "You can't just destroy everyone who scares you instead of dealing with your own goddamn feelings!"
His eyes snap to mine, hard and merciless. "Feelings?" he repeats, his voice pure ice. "Don't kid yourself, princess. This isn't about feelings. It's about respect. He disrespected what's mine."
"What's yours," I repeat, my voice trembling with anger. "That's all I am to you? A thing you own?"
He laughs, the sound cold. "Isn't that what you want? You love it when I'm like this. You love it when I take control, when I make you beg, when I leave marks on your skin so everyone knows you belong to me. You fucking live for the bruises I leave on you, just so everyone knows you're mine. Don't pretend you don't, princess. You aren't innocent here. You fucking love baiting the monster. You always have."
I shake my head, tears burning my eyes. "You're right. I'm not innocent. I've never been innocent, not when it comes to you." I cross the distance between us, close enough to see the blood drying in the cracks of his knuckles. "But I'm not the one lying to myself, Asher. That's you. You won't even admit what's really between us. You won't say it. You never say it."
He just stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge me or what I've said.
So I say it for him. For both of us.
"I've never wanted anyone else," I say, my voice shaking. "I flirted and teased and every fucking time, I prayed to God that me paying attention to someone else would be enough to make you finally, finally admit that you wanted me the same way."
"It's all a fucking game to you, isn't it?" he asks.
"I love you, you impossible bastard," I growl. "I never stopped. That's why I do the shit I do. Because I love you, and I've only ever wanted you to admit that you feel the same way about me!"
The truth lands like a bomb. Asher's glass freezes halfway to his mouth. His eyes go wide and wild. For the first time, he looks scared, like I've said the one thing guaranteed to destroy us both.
Maybe I have. I don't know anymore. All I know is that we can't keep doing this. We can't keep hurting ourselves and everyone around us like they're casualties in a war they never asked to fight.
I'm tired of being the girl who turned him into a monster.
I'm just so fucking tired of it.
For once, I just want to be the girl he lets himself love.
Ineedto be that girl.
Chapter Sixteen
Asher
Idon't move. I can't. For a full minute after she says it, I just stand there, as if the words might disappear if I don't breathe. But they hang between us anyway, impossible to ignore.
I love you, you impossible bastard. I never stopped.
She means it. She fucking means it. She doesn't look away. She just stands there, offering me the last scrap of her heart like it's her most prized possession.
I see the hope in her eyes. The insane, stupid, reckless hope that maybe—after everything—I might say it back.
If I thought I could ever be worthy of her, I wouldn't even hesitate.
But I'm not that man. I am what I am, and what I am doesn't deserve a single ounce of the love she just gave me. I never have.
I'm the one who nearly killed her five years ago. The one who put her in that hospital bed yesterday, when she stepped in front of a car just to escape the truth of what I am. I'm the one who left fingerprints around her throat, and the one who broke her, over and over, until there was nothing left of her but raw, ragged edges and festering wounds.
