“Try it. I dare you.” My lips curled. “You’re pathetic when you’re like this.” I kept my voice low, almost gentle. “Was it always an act, or did life just grind you down?”
She stopped, chest heaving. “You don’t know anything about me. You think you do, but you never did.”
I stepped in, crowding her against a tree, eyes boring into hers. “Bullshit. I know everything about you. You’re an open wound, Langston. Always bleeding for someone to notice.”
Her jaw clenched. “You’re projecting. That’s what your dad did, wasn’t it? I hear he left bruises where words wouldn’t do.”
Ice slid through my veins. I slammed my palm against the bark beside her head, the thud snapping through the silence. Herbreath caught.
“You want to talk about fathers? I’ll bury you under stories that’ll make yours look like a fucking episode of Sesame Street,” I ground out, leaning in until my shadow swallowed her expression. I watched her throat work, saw the fight spit hot behind her eyes, but she didn’t flinch. She never fucking flinched.
“Congratulations on the worst dad trophy,” she snapped, too close, breath sour on my cheek. “Still doesn’t mean you get to run my life, Caiden.” She was trembling, and I felt it all the way down my locked arm. I should have let her go. Should have barked a laugh and shoved off down the trail, left her to gnaw the bark for comfort, but instead I slammed my palm harder against the trunk.
The sound was violence, split and echoing.
I was dizzy with the burn in my jaw, the urge to grab her by the nape and shake her until all the old wounds poured out.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I shoved off, shouldering past her so hard I hoped she’d snap a rib just to call my bluff. “You want to keep score, Langston?” I muttered, voice a slow venom. “You’ve got your own fucking graveyard, right? Go ahead, drag the corpses out. Let’s see who breaks first.”
She caught up, boots skidding through the mess of bracken. “You know nothing about my life. Not a goddamn thing,” she seethed, eyes digging into my side. “Just cause your daddy was a monster doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.”
I almost laughed. Almost. Instead I bared my teeth, not really a smile. “No, you just like playing martyr. Always did. Always whining, like it makes you interesting.”
She hissed. I could hear the exhaustion in it, the weak crackle beneath the rage. “At least I don’t shove people until they crumble, asshole.”
“Oh, please. You crumbled way before I even touched you.” My hands felt electric, restless. It took everything not to punch something. “You think you’re the only one who’s been chewed up? Look around, princess. Everybody’s meat out here.”
She tripped beside me, stumbled, caught herself on a branch. Her knuckles bled fresh red over old scabs. I watched, couldn’t stop. The sight of it made my chest hollow out.
I pulled ahead, needing distance, needing air. But she followed, gnawing at my heels. Always.
We kept moving, pushing through a patch of thorns that tore at her shirt. She swore, yanked the sleeve free, staggered right into my shoulder. I steadied her with a grunt, rough, not gentle, but I was already sick with the stupidity of the reflex.
Her lips twisted. “What, now you’re a gentleman?”
I shook her off, barking a dry laugh. “You’d freeze to death if I let you try standing by yourself. You’re fucking pathetic, Langston.”
“Yeah, well, better pathetic than a sadist.” She gripped her arm, cradling it like I’d actually hurt her.
The way she glared told me she hated me for seeing her hurt. I wished I could’ve told her I didn’t give a shit, but that wasn’t true. The sight gnawed at me, a dog chewing bone. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.
Instead, I stood there, jaw clenched, fists jammed into the dirty fabric of my pockets, so tight my fingers tingled. I forced the anger down – always, always forcing it down – and tried to keep my voice calm. Flat.
If I let even a crack show, she’d see what she did to me, that part I could never kill.
“You shouldn’t touch anything. You’re like glass. Break every time the wind blows.”
She shifted on her feet, hair falling in a ragged curtain, arms closing tighter around herself. “Says the guy who can’t finish a conversation without throwing something.” Her voice rasped, too raw, but she still tried to jab. Always did.
“Yeah, well, I don’t see you walking away,” I said. I didn’t want to see her win. Not even for a second. “You’d wither in five minutes out here without me, and you know it.” My words came out rough. The accusation hung like a blade.
“Better that than dying of boredom listening to you jerk yourself off about how tough you are.” Her eyes were glassy, desperate, but she still looked straight at me.
I spiked forward, crowding her space. The only way I knew how to get control. “You want tough? Try not whining every time you get a scratch. Just once.”
She shook, the shudder starting in her jaw andrippling down. “You only say that because you’re used to pain. You like it, don’t you? Makes you feel alive.”
