“Don’t… don’t talk to me like I’m broken and you’re doing inventory.”
“Someone has to do inventory. You’re not doing it.”
“You don’t get to say that,” I snapped. “You set me on fire and then walked away. You don’t get to show up three months later and comment on what’s left.”
He took that hit without flinching. On the surface, anyway. A muscle in his cheek jumped.
“I’m not commenting. I’m observing.”
“Same thing.”
“No. Commenting is for everyone else. Observing is for people who know the baseline.”
For a second, it hurt. How well he spoke my language. How accurately he named the difference.
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you want, Vince?”
His mouth tightened at the sound of his name from me. As if he wanted Mr. Crow and I’d given him something too intimate instead.
Maybe that’s why I said it again.
“What do you want, Vince?” I repeated. “You already broke my heart. You’ve ticked that box. What’s this? Quality assurance?”
His eyes flickered—pain, quick and buried. If I hadn’t spent a year studying his micro-expressions I might have missed it.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Something ugly and hysterical pushed up in my chest. I laughed. It sounded wrong even to me.
“You told me I was too much work. You told me you didn’t want me. You watched me fall apart in your bedroom and did nothing. Why would you care if I’m okay?”
I dragged in a breath that tasted like blood “Do you know how long I kept waiting for an explanation? Two weeks. I kept telling myself you were in danger. That Damius had threatened you. That you did it to protect me and when it was safe you’d explain.”
His hands curled into fists in his pockets. That was new. He used to hide that better.
“And then,” I continued, because if I stopped I’d start crying, “I realized it didn’t matter why. Not really. The result was the same. My chest was still split open. You were still gone. And I was still the idiot who believed every promise you made.”
His voice dropped. “I meant what I promised.”
I laughed again, sharper this time. “You promised you wouldn’t do this to me, Vince. You sat in that bed and told me you wouldn’t switch me off. That I wasn’t temporary. Do you remember that?”
His throat worked. “Yes.”
“You told me to trust you. I was safe. You would never hurt me.”
His eyes closed briefly, like it physically pained him. “I know.”
“And then, three hours after telling me you loved me, you looked me in the eye and said you didn’t want me. That I was too much work.”
My voice broke on the last word. I hated the sound. Hated how small it made me feel in my own mouth. The worst part was that he didn’t argue.
He just stood there, breathing quietly, letting me talk. As if I was dramatic little child throwing a tantrum.
“You look like you haven’t been sleeping. Why?” His tone was so sharp, I wanted to slap him. Apart of me wanted to turn away. Instead I narrowed my eyes, and stepped slightly forward.
“Why I haven’t been sleeping?”
“Tell me.”
