“I think you knew you had to do what was necessary, so you didn’t break the only connection you’ve made here, and you wanted to survive.”
My chest tightens. “And what if I am? What if surviving means giving what someone else needs to live?” My hands shake. I can feel my control slipping. “You don’t understand anything about me!”
“I understand enough.”
His calm makes my anger spike higher.
“Enough to know you don’t care about him, not really. You only care about your own survival. Your own damn self.”
I lunge, slapping him hard across the face, tasting the metallic edge of fury. “You think you know everything! You think you’re God here! I—” I break raw with frustration and grief. “He was my friend, and whether or not it helped my survival here is beside the point!”
He doesn’t move, silence making this worse than any words could.
My fists drop to my sides, and I sink to the floor, rage and fear mingling into exhaustion.
His tongue runs against the inside of his mouth, and it’s ridiculous that I still find any part of him enticing, especially after this.
He falls back against the wall, watching me too closely.
Probably judging me for being so weak.
I expect condescension, something sharp. Instead, he mumbles, almost to himself, “I’ve been angry.”
I blink up at him, thrown.
“I thought you would take to me right away, and I can see now that I was wrong. I will try to be more patient.”
What?
He’s giving me whiplash, and I can’t even think straight. He’s flipping moods so fast I can’t keep up, and it twists everything inside me.
I shut my eyes, trying to stop the room from tilting.
Time blurs. I sit on the floor, breathing through the leftover adrenaline while he just… stays there, not speaking. Not moving closer. Just waiting for something I don’t know how to give.
After a long while he finally rises and walks into the bathroom.
The shower turns on, heat creeping out the door he leaves purposely, almost pointedly, open.
He looked disappointed that I didn’t say anything. But what the hell does he expect? He dragged me into a blind rage, pushed every nerve I have, and still has me locked in his bedroom.
He’s delusional if he thinks he’s getting anything from me.
* * *
After about an hour of steam spilling into his bedroom, I consider throwing myself out the window and just ending mysuffering once and for all.
“Aurelia.” I hear the call come from the shower.
“What?” I answer, irritated by his attempt to live peacefully with me already.
“I forgot my towel.”
I glance at the bed—the motherfucker. He did this on purpose.
“Can you bring it to me?”
“No,” I fire back instantly, having no interest in seeing this monster naked again.
