Page 214 of Breathe Like Hell

He paused for a few seconds, glancing away from me. He looked exhausted in a way sleep couldn’t fix. I was sure he hadn’t slept much, though. I hadn’t slept at all. “Not last night, if that’s what you’re worried about. We don’t need to talk about that shit. I understand.”

“Then what, Mason? Why the fuck are you trying to trap me in my own house?” My jaw flexed, tightened, muscles aching with tension.

“Why didn’t you let me talk to you? At the end.”

Silence claimed the room.

My heart was beating so loud in my chest, I knew he could hear it.

I swallowed before speaking, buying myself another second.

“Wh—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Micah.” Mason said loudly, taking a few steps closer to me. Instinctively, I walked further into the kitchen to stand at the counter by the sink, putting distance back between us. “Give me a real answer,” he demanded.

“There’s no real answer. I didn’t want to talk to you.” I kept my gaze fixed on the countertop, afraid that looking at him would undo whatever control I still had. “That’s all.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His voice was closer. “I know when you’re lying.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I know right now. You won’t even look me in the eyes.”

“Doesn’t change anything.” I braced my arms on the counter, staring at the piece missing from the edge, which Mason had accidentally broken off fighting me a few months ago. All violence. I forced my breathing to stay even.

“You’re a coward. Look at me. You can’t even say it.”

“You’re not entitled to an explanation.” My stomach turned.

“I’m not entitled, or you’re too afraid to⁠—”

“Because you were killing me, and I was letting you!” I yelled, turning around. “Do you think I wanted to talk to you about that? I had to leave the way I did.”

He doesn’t know shit.

Mason didn’t answer, which only made me feel worse. More panicked. More angry.

I regretted saying anything.

The silence between us now was almost harder to endure than the argument itself.

The familiarity of him made the distance hurt worse.

“I had to,” I repeated, ribs expanding with every heavy breath.

“Kill—”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I thought⁠—”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Mason.” My face hardened into a mask, and I was glaring at Mason with all the force I could muster. But he could probably still see the slight shaking of my hands, could tell how hard I was grasping for stability.

He stepped towards me.

“No. You owe me. You fucking owe me. You know you do. You fucked up my whole fucking life, and you didn’t let me speak a word to you about it. I don’t care if you think I was killing you, because you killed me too.”

“I don’t owe you shit!” I shouted, my voice raising in volume. “I’m sorry for breaking up with you? Is that what you want me to say? Because I’m not, and I’d do it again.”