Page 124 of Into Pitch

“I love the part of you that survived. The part of you that didn’t bother to soften itself to be palatable.” He corrects.

“You love that I can bleed,” I hiss.

“I love that you don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt,” he shrugs.

My throat burns with emotion that I’m trying to shove right back down it.

“You scare me.”

“I know.”

“You’re ridiculously dangerous and so very bad for me.”

“I am.”

“You could ruin me.”

“I could,” he agrees. “But I won’t.”

I shake my head, running out of things to throw at the wall and make stick. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says quietly. “Because I already know what it would take.”

“You’re psychotic,” I whisper. “You’re controlling and just—fucking morally black. You don’t bend.”

“I don’t,” he confirms.

“And I love you,” I groan.

He smiles warmly, and I hate that he can do so and it immediately wipe out all rationality. That I just melt little inside and maybe not forgive his sins, but certainly turn an eye away from them on occasion.

“You shouldn’t,” he says softly.

“I know and that’s the worst part.”

Silence crashes down around us.

“I won’t cage you, Sadie. I won’t soften you. I won’t ask you to become less so I can feel safer.” He breathes out.

“And in return?” I ask bitterly.

“You don’t pretend you don’t want me by lying to yourself,” he murmurs.

“And the space? You said you’d give me space.” I ask, heart pounding.

“I will. Space to choose and breathe, space to leave if you need to. But, if you leave to be with someone else, I will intervene.”

I groan. “There it is.”

“That’s not jealousy,” Alex shrugs. “It’s just a hard fact. One I’m not pretending is otherwise.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I like to think I’m complicated. Much like you,” he smirks.

I sigh and run my hands back into my hair. Just staring at him.

“We’re always going to fight, aren’t we?” I whisper.