“Leave!” She screams, loud enough it’ll draw the attention of the staff outside. “Leave!”
Tears fall freely from her eyes now, grief twisting her features, paling her skin.
“Leave!” She cries again, and fuck…
“Okay.” I hold my hands up, “Okay, baby. I’ll leave.”
“Don’t come back.”
“We’re married, Olivia.”
“And I’ll hate it for the rest of my life.” She jabs, sniffling as those fat tears roll down her cheeks. I want to kiss away her pain, hold her until she no longer feels like she is falling apart, but I can’t. She won’t let me.
“This isn’t over.”
She swats at her tears, “We never even begun, Malakai. There is nothing to be over. We arenothing.”
Chapter Sixty-three
I’m not sure what hurts the most. My leg or my heart.
It’s been a week since I was shot and a day since I was let out of the hospital. I didn’t go home, even though he tried to demand I did. Willow collected me from the hospital, apparently Sebastian filled her in oneverything,and now she’s walking on eggshells around me.
Malakai came to see me every day at the hospital, begged me to talk, pleaded with me but I refused.
He didn’t choose me.
He can pretend he did all he likes but he didn’t. Not from the very beginning. I just hadn’t realized it when I was wrapped up in him. Us, we were always contractual, fake from the very start.
And laying on the warehouse floor, listening to them while Stefan gave him the ultimatum, I saw the hesitation. It was there, just a flash. Me or his so-called throne.
For a second, hehesitated.
Fresh tears heat my eyes, but I quickly clear my throat and shake my head.
It didn’t matter that no matter what he decided, it would have ended with me dying anyway, and he got us out, or rather Killian and Dean fixed it to be that way.
And then the bet with Sebastian, the ego and cockiness that he was so sure he’d be able to get me into bed. Well, I guess it wasn’t misplaced. He did get me.
All of me.
I use my crutches as I move through Willow’s penthouse, heading for the fridge to grab some water. I have a shit ton of pills to take and I’m not even mad about it. The painkillers are strong enough they knock me the fuck out, and for the few hours of dead sleep I don’t think of him. I don’t dream of him.
It’s only when I’m awake that he haunts me.
I take the water awkwardly back to the couch where my pills are, abandoning the crutches as I carefully lower onto the plush cushions, reaching for the pills.
I pop the antibiotics first and then grab the pain meds, shaking two of the pills into my hand. I’m swallowing them down when Willow gets back home, a bag of groceries hanging from her hand.
“Hey,” she says, placing it on the side.
“Hi,” I croak, voice raw. I’ve barely spoken, and I’ve cried a lot so now my throat is sore, to add it to the long list of shit that hurts right now.
“I got us ice cream,” She pulls two pots from the bag, “I was gonna get wine but figured with all those meds…”
I nod, “Can’t drink right now.”
“How are you doing?” She continues, placing the ice cream in the freezer before she unpacks the rest of the groceries and puts them away.
