I didn’t even try to hide it anymore. I’d given up the illusion of control the second I stepped into that gallery. Every piece of art on the walls looked like noise to me, overpriced brushstrokes for people who’d never bled for anything real.
“I don’t do anger well,” I kept my voice low.
She scoffed, not even glancing up from the next frame. “I think that’s all Crows, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
The silence after that felt heavier than any fight I’d been in. I swallowed it down, the words I should’ve said weeks ago scraping the back of my throat. “I’m sorry,” It came out rough, quieter than I meant.
She nodded once, eyes still fixed on the painting.
“Okay.”
That was it. No forgiveness. Just that single word. But I took it anyway, because it was more than I deserved.
After a few minutes, I found myself speaking. Because apparently I’m not just desperate around her. I also become a chatty box.
“Did your cookie finale ever come out for your show?”
She turned at that, her brow arching, a faint, disbelieving laugh escaping her. “Don’t act like you care.”
“I do.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Trying to decide if I was lying.
“Madeline,” I stepped closer. “I care.”
“Vince. Stop.”
“I can’t.” I almost laughed at myself because I sounded desperate, and maybe I was.
She shook her head and looked away, but she didn’t move. I took another slow step until I was close enough to feel her.
“I’m not asking for anything. I just—fuck, I just wanted to talk.”
She exhaled. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah.” I smiled faintly, even though it hurt. “But you seemed to like that about me.”
When she stopped to look at the next piece. I stepped in front of her, blocking her path, my body between her and the so called art.
“Vince,” she tilted her head
“I shouldn’t be here. I know that. I don’t know what this feeling is. But I can’t control it. It’s fucking annoying and apparently, I can’t just walk away from you.”
“Then maybe you should find a way to control that feeling.”
“I’ve tried.” I reached out, my hand catching her wrist before she could turn away. “You think I don’t know what I look like right now? You think I like feeling like this?”
I could see she was nervous. She didn’t answer.
“Madeline. You drive me out of my fucking head. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s madness,” I brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You made me mad. And I don’t even want to get better.”
My hand slid to the side of her neck, my thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. She didn’t pull back this time. Her breathing hitched, and that was all it took to undo every bit of restraint I had left.
“I want to get to know you more,” My words were raw.
Every part of me was tight with restraint, and every second she stayed in front of me, silent, was a kind of torture. I’d been tortured before. I’d been in a fucking concrete cell with my ownhead for a month. I knew torture but this was worse than all of it.
