But even the verbal mockery and cruel stares fade. One afternoon, he doesn’t even react when I speak. He doesn’t even look at me.
Pain tightens around my chest to the point where I can barely breathe. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
I step right up to him, feeling recklessly bold. Or maybe stupid, because Ian is away for the night to play a concert. There’s no one here to protect me. But I can’t help myself. “Why are you ignoring me?”
“Dad told me not to talk to you,” he says, not even sparing me a glance.
I gnash my teeth, knowing why Ian did that and knowing I should shut up and leave the room. But I need something—anything. Just a small taste. One look. I just stand there, watching as he goes about retrieving things from the fridge and cupboards, the ache around my heart expanding until every beat feels like it takes tremendous effort.
“I miss you,” I finally blurt, unable to keep the words in any longer. And I keep going, even knowing how reckless it is. The desperate need is simply too sharp. “Please, Killian. Just give me something. A hug. A kiss. Anything. Just talk to me.”
“What the fuck would we talk about?” He still doesn’t turn to me as he pops a plate into the microwave and waits for the food to heat.
His rejection is a sharp spear through my already achy heart, but I push on anyway. “Everything. You hurting and humiliating me, then walking away. Not even wanting to play anymore. Refusing to acknowledge that we were once friends. The way you keep acting like you don’t care about me. But I know you—”
“I don’t,” he cuts me off, gripping the edges of the counter tight, eyes trained on the microwave. “I don’t fucking care about you. I never have.” He opens the microwave to check on the food.
I lower my voice as if speaking to a frightened animal, and that’s the way I’ve started seeing him. Gradually, after Ian told me about Killian’s issues, things have cleared until all I can see is that Killian’s coldness really is just a front—a way to hide a world of hurt. “I think you do.”
He slams the microwave door shut, then finally turns to me, a furious expression burning in his eyes. “I fucking don’t. Stop acting like you know me. You and Dad both. I’m sick of it.”
“Can we at least talk about what will happen after the competition?”
“What’s there to talk about?” He lets out a mocking laugh. “You didn’t think I would suddenly want you to be mysweetheartjust because you got me a trophy, did you? You’re still just our dumb pet.”
He takes the food out of the microwave, grabs a fork, and walks past me. But my next words make him pause.
“Killian, I’m moving out. Ian has gotten me a flat.”
Slowly, he turns and says with malice, “He did what?”
I retreat a step. “What did you think was gonna happen? The time is up. I can’t be here anymore. Not when you’re like this.”
His fist curls and uncurls. “And then what? He’s just going to keep you there? His sweet little virgin? Fuck your ass and mouth once in a while when he sees fit?”
“I’m not a virgin anymore,” I whisper, and I know it’s a mistake the moment the words leave my mouth.
A furious thunderstorm flares alive in his eyes. Everything else goes still. His posture, time, and the very air around us. And then it breaks with a burst of fury. Killian slams the plate down, so hard it cracks in three. “He’s fucked your pussy?” he demands, pointing a threatening finger at me. He takes a step forward, and I take one more back. “So now what? He’s gonna keep you to himself? Without even telling me?Ourtoy.”
“No, he was gonna talk to you; he was just waiting for the right time. You seem so...” I back up further until I connect with the wall, and my breath flutters wildly through my nose as Killian keeps advancing, one slow step at a time.
“So what?” he demands, stopping right in front of me, staring me down with livid eyes that seem to hold a world of hurt.
“Angry,” I whisper.
Bracing one hand on the wall, he cages me in, then scoffs and looks to the side. When he meets my gaze again, I want to sink down the wall to escape the rage that seems to be seeping from his very pores. “You think I’m angry?”
I give a careful nod.
Wrapping his other hand around my throat, he leans in. “You think you know how I fucking feel?” When I don’t reply, he raises his voice to a rumbling demand. “Do you?”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I’m scared now. Truly scared. I’ve grown comfortable around Killian, thinking his arrogant mockery is just a means to convince everyone, including himself, that he doesn’t feel anything for me. But now, I’m not so sure anymore. And the fact that Ian is not home keeps echoing through my mind.
“Please let go of me, Killian.”
“Please, please, please,” he mocks. “Stop. No.It’s always the same with you. Pathetic little protests when all you want is to have something stuffed inside that wet cunt of yours.”
“Stop,” I whimper, unable to help myself.
