He’d manipulated me.
He’d played fucking stalker and savior at the same time.
Those nights spent in anguish, worrying how anyone could’ve gotten close enough to draw my fucking blood.
It’d all been him.
“I don’t want an explanation right now,” I managed, balling my hands into fists.
“But…”
“No!” I shouted, and Eric stumbled back as if I’d hit him. “Nothing you could say would make this okay. You fucking stalked me. You threatened me.”
“I never…”
“Shut the fuck up!”
I pushed his chest.
Eric stumbled back.
One step, another.
Closer and closer to the door.
“You need to leave.”
“But…”
“No!”
If I kept screaming like this, maybe one of my neighbors would call the police.
Hell, maybe they should.
“Get out!”
“Finn, please, you might be in…”
“In danger? I don’t fucking care. I’ve been in danger for months.”
“You haven’t…”
I glared at Eric, and he was wise enough to shut his mouth.
“I’ve apparently been stalked for months. I trusted you. I fucking… I…” I shook my head. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but you need to leave. Right. The fuck. Now. And I swear… I swear to you, if I even think you’re stalkingme, that fucking clan head will be the least of your problems. Got it?”
Eric was shaking, his face a mask of utter anguish.
The most ridiculous thing?
It fucking hurt seeing him hurting.
He’d played mind games with me for months, but seeing him so completely shattered hurt me nonetheless.
So fucking pathetic.
He didn’t say a word as I kept pushing and pushing until we reached my apartment door. He didn’t fight me as I opened the door and pushed him out.
