I've spent some hours lately reading about what it means when a person is acting the way he does.
Bruno doesn't know how to be close to someone without expecting them to leave.
So he pushes first. Hurts first. Runs first.
And when someone doesn't run he doesn't know what to do with it.
I've seen this before.
Not exactly like this. But close enough.
My father, after my mother's diagnosis.
Trauma makes people do strange things.
It makes them push away the people they want closest.
Bruno is drowning in trauma.
He doesn't know how to let someone in without expecting them to destroy him.
So he destroys first.
But I'm still mad at how he treated Oliver.
"Let go of my hand," I say.
He doesn't.
His fingers dig into my wrist. Not hard enough to bruise. But hard enough to make a point.
"Bruno." I keep my voice steady. "Let go."
"No."
I could fight him. Could pull away. Could scream and make a scene.
But that's what he expects. That's what he's used to.
So I do the opposite.
I step closer.
His breath catches. His grip loosens slightly—just from surprise.
I lean down until my face is level with his. Until I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. Until I can smell myself on his lips.
"You wanted to touch yourself while watching me," I say quietly.
His jaw tightens.
"I helped you finish what you started." I hold his gaze. "And I found some pleasure for myself in the process. That's all that happened here."
"That's all?" he repeats.
"That's all."
I straighten. Try to pull my wrist free.
