“When have I outright lied? And your steak is getting cold.” He pushes his chair back a little, like he’s feeling suffocated somehow.
“I didn’t say you lied, but you’re bending the truth like a clown does balloon animals. And I like cold steak.” I pick up my fork and stab at a piece of meat, glaring at him through slitted eyes as I bite down and chew, swallowing it down with a large gulp of wine.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Berkleigh. You are so stubborn. What do you want from me? Fine, I hated you. That’s not news, but I can both hate you and still want to know you’re safe. Why is that so fucking insane?” His left leg starts bouncing up and down like his nerves are getting the better of him.
“Why? Because people don’t spy on people they hate, just to know they’re safe. It’s as insane as they come. I could understand if you had some hidden crush, but that definitely wasn’t it. Not with the way we used to be before you left. Not with the things that happened to me.” It seems like everything is coming out of the bag now. The whole damn can of worms has been popped.
“This isn’t high school, Berkleigh. Crushes aren’t a thing. We’re fucking adults.” He stands, pacing from one end of the table to the other. “And if you haven’t noticed yet, I’m not fucking normal. I’m not the boy next door from almost twenty years ago.”
“No, but you’re still the asshole who confuses the fuck out of me and makes my life difficult. How has a simple conversation turned into this bullshit?” I pour myself another hefty glass of wine, feeling the effects from the first two glasses already but I give exactly zero fucks.
His steps halt, then he turns, facing me head on. “I make your life difficult? Are you fucking serious?” Raking his fingers through his short hair, he laughs with absolutely no humor in his tone. “You made your own life difficult by bringing home all of those fucking losers. Half of them I had to kill off because they were dangerous fucks. How’sthatfor difficult?”
The wine in my mouth sprays all over the table, my dinner now covered in the red liquid, and I have to take another mouthful just to calm myself because…What. The. Fuck?
“You’re fucking insane!” No wonder nobody ever called me for a second date.
“No shit! Again, that’s common knowledge. Your people have told me this repeatedly.” He flings out his arms in visible exasperation, like I’m the one being unreasonable.
“Were any of them actually dangerous? Did they deserve to be killed or have you been out murdering people for the sake of it?” I’m uncertain whether I feel anything for them or not, it’s not like any of them were memorable experiences, but I’m sure they didn’t deserve to die.
“Did they…” His head falls back as he releases a long winded, “Fuuuck.” Then, like a switch has been flipped, he fixes his stare back on me and it’s almost void of all emotions. “Exhibit A. Your house where one of your fuck boys raped you. How’s that for deserving my wrath?”
“Okay, so yeah, I’ll give you that one. Although, he’s still very much alive…” I glare back at him, taunting him. “But what about the others? Because I was very willing, each and every time.” I cross one of my legs over my knee as elegantly as I can muster, relaxing my elbow on the back of my chair, sipping my wine triumphantly.
I don’t have time to savor my victory before he flips the table over, food and drinks flying all over the kitchen, the crashingof silverware and plates pulling a scream out of me worthy of a horror movie.
“You’re wasting the wine!” I don’t know why this is my priority when he’s just scared the shit out of me, standing there panting like an animal.
Then he’s on me, feral and murderous, his hand on my throat and my back suddenly slammed against the nearest wall. “You don’t talk about the men you fucked. They don’t fucking matter. Do you understand?” His mouth is so close, his words pushed out through gritted teeth. “Every time I saw a man in your house, I wanted to kill him. I didn’t give a fuck if he was teacher of the year or a fucking mafia kingpin. They all deserved to die because they fucking touched what’s mine.” Then his mouth is on me and I’m so confused, I have no idea what’s happening.
I pull away, despite how good he always feels, huffing at his attitude. I could scream and cry and go crazy with all of this information, but after spending so much time together, it doesn’t feel as wild as it definitely should. I understand him because right now, yeah, I’d absolutely kill a bitch for touching him. Maybe I’m insane too?
“Basically, you’ve been spying on me for a long time because you secretly love me?” I laugh, because what else am I supposed to do? It feels like some big joke the universe is playing on me. My bully secretly loved me all this time…yeah, right.
Blinking, he steps back, eyes still pinning me down like a physical touch. “Love. I don’t know what that is or how that is supposed to feel, Berkleigh. But I do know this…” He takes a deep breath, his jaw tensing. “The hate and anger and, and, and the pain. The fucking pain of your deceit? That was real.”
“Mydeceit? What the fuck did I ever do to you? We were friends one day, then you went away for the summer and came back like a completely different boy. I did nothing but be your friend.” I’m standing now, pushing him backward with my fingeragainst his chest. He could stand his ground, but he moves backward with each word.
Pushing back the sleeves of his sweatshirt, he brings his forearm up to my face, then wraps his long, strong fingers around my wrist. “Feel that. Right there.” With his guidance, my finger presses against his tatted skin. At first I’m lost. What the fuck is he doing? Then I feel it. It’s bumpy, like a series of small, round pits all aligned in a straight line. Almost the shape of a…
I gasp.
“Does that feel like nothing to you? Do you even know where I went that summer? You know, the summer I was taken away? I didn’t just go away, Berkleigh. I. Was. Taken. All because you couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut.”
“About what?! What are you talking about? You spent the summer with your uncle, and that’s all I know.” Ugh! This man is so frustrating and I’m getting more confused by the second. I pull from his grasp, fling my hands into the air, and sit back down.
He steps back again, shaking his head like I’m the one who’s dense. “You’re right, Sweet Bee. I went to my uncle’s house. His isolated, rundown house where I worked my ass off trying not to gain more and more scars by the day.” In his eyes, I can see he’s fighting himself. He wants to talk but also, he absolutely does not. The inner war going on in his head is real and I’m completely invested in this silent movie. “And night. In my room. Alone with him.”
Not in a million years did I expect those words to come from his mouth and they nearly destroy me. The pain behind his eyes is like a living, breathing monster, and I’m trying to not flip into professional mode and ask him how it feels because…well, it’s pretty obvious at this point. This is more emotion than I have ever seen him display.
I take a deep breath, processing his words, hating them and wishing he didn’t have to speak them, but glad he is trusting me all the same.
“Is this the first time you’ve spoken to someone about it?” I can’t help myself, but I also need to know.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He rolls his head and leans back against the kitchen counter, glaring at me through his lashes.
“Sorry, I ju—”
