The air between us feels charged. My pulse bangs against my throat like a warning.
I hate that my voice softens anyway. “Why do you read it so much?”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’ll snap. Mock. Deflect. Turn it into something vile. Instead, he exhales slowly.
“Because it touches on something most don’t get.”
My breath catches. “What don’t most people get?”
Lorenzo’s lips tip up, but there’s no humor in the way they move. Instead, it feels bitter. Broken. “Wanting someone, and realizing wanting isn’t the same as being wanted back.”
My throat tightens so hard it hurts.
I stare at him, stunned by the honesty. By the fact that it’s slipping out of him. I don’t know what to do with it. So I do what I always do . . . I go for the throat.
“You’re not a victim,” I whisper, forcing steel into my voice. “Don’t talk like you are.”
His gaze hardens. All the softness is gone instantly, replaced by something cold and lethal.
“Victim?” He steps closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. “No, Little Bird. I’m the consequence.”
My stomach flips. I tighten my grip on the book like I can anchor myself with paper and ink.
“What happened to you?”
Lorenzo’s mouth curves into a smile that is all teeth and darkness. “Now that’s a story for a different day.”
“I don’t want to hear any of it,” I fire back. “All that matters is that you’re not the boy who used to—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, voice sharp as glass. His fingers lift again, hovering near my jaw, then curling into a fist at the last second like he’s strangling the impulse. “Don’t talk about him.Hewas weak.”
My breath stutters.
He takes a step back, just barely, giving me air again.
“Have you read it recently?” he asks, voice low.
I blink, thrown by the reversal. “Yes.”
His eyes flick up. “How recently?”
My mouth twists. “Once a year.”
He leans back against the shelf behind him, one shoulder resting against the wood as if he belongs there. “At least you have insight into why you’re here.”
My pulse spikes, but I force my voice steady. “I don’t need to read a book to know that you brought me here to punish me.”
Lorenzo’s jaw flexes. “That’s what you think this is?”
“What else would it be?” I whisper, my throat tight, my hands shaking.
His eyes hold mine, and something in them looks almost tired. His obsession costs him a part of himself.
“You were never a phase . . .” My breath catches. His gaze doesn’t waver.
The room tilts.
For a second, my brain goes silent.
