Page 12 of Breathe Like Hell

Despite expecting it, I still flinched.

My face paled and I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the handle of my spoon. The heat in the house kicked off, the room suddenly feeling so much quieter in the absence of air blowing noisily through vents. I hadn’t even noticed the background noise until it disappeared.

It took all of my bravery just to keep eye contact with Micah.

“For what?” I managed to ask because I needed him to confirm my exact wrongdoing, all my muscles wound up tight with the need to run. But we’d never last if we didn’t talk about this.

And I needed him to last. Needed it so fucking badly.

“For what?”

I kept quiet, shame warming my cheeks.

“If we talk about this, are you going to throw another one of my glasses on the ground?” He tipped his head to the side, his emotion unreadable. “Both of you have that in common, you know. Breaking my shit when you’re mad. I wonder why that is. Wonder what seems so disposable about my belongings to you both.”

My lips twisted to the side, my heart beating hard and fast. Guilt injected tremors through my limbs, sparked a twitch in my fingers.

“To be clear, I’m talking about Mason. The man you’ve been fucking behind my back.”

Tightness spanned across my chest and my hands shook more, nausea turning my stomach. Every physical reaction he dragged from my body pushed me further towards the yawning chasm of insanity I’d been trying to keep myself from falling into for weeks. It was the sort of thing I’d never be able to claw out of on my own, and at this point, I wasn’t sure I had anyone left to help me back to the light.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered honestly. I was sorry.

“Doesn’t change anything.” Micah leaned back and crossed his arms.

“If you knew, why didn’t you do anything to stop it?” Angry heat pulsed in my flushed cheeks, a million different irrational emotions racing through my bloodstream. Micah could probably feel all of them, if he cared to look inside my head now. I blinked away the tears threatening to gather in my eyes.

“Tell me something, Masters.” He sat forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table, leaning into my space, ignoring my question. My pulse kicked up even higher. He always had a way of making me feel cornered. “Did you think I was stupid, or I just didn’t care?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” I breathed shakily.

“Seems like you do.”

“I don’t.” My hands tightened into fists, fingernails pressing into my palms.

“Well I know you’d never think I wouldn’t care about this. So you must think I’m a fucking moron who can’t tell when his girl is screwing another man. In his own house, nonetheless.” He tilted his head, his tone shifting to be even meaner, almost like he was making fun of what I’d done. “All that sneaking around.”

Somehow, I was able to ignore everything he’d said except for two very vital words.

His girl.

My heart fluttered, a tiny spark of hope blinking through my panic.

Maybe everything would be fine. He was mad but he wasn’t done with me.

“I don’t think you’re a moron and I’m sorry⁠—”

“Not sorry enough to stop, though, right?” His gaze was cold, observing me, picking apart my expression, reading every hope and fear and anxiety in my eyes. All the instability crashing over my thoughts.

“Micah—”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“Hey. You spent weeks lying to me; don’t get shy now. Lie to me again.” He leaned even further into my space, and I tightened my fists until the pressure of my fingernails on my palms hurt. “Or tell me the truth. Up to you.”

“It’s a rhetorical fucking question, Micah. I’m not going to answer it,” I snapped, pushing my chair out and getting to my feet. My heart was back to pounding hard in my chest, slamming on my ribcage like a terrified, trapped bird.