My chest tightens with emotion and I know I should probably just abort mission and leave, but I can’t.
“I fell for it,” I admit. “Two weeks ago, in the pool, I let myself think I might actually feel something for you, then you completely ghosted me today. And for what? Parker-fucking-Holiday?”
Slow down, Blue. Don’t let him see too much.
“I keep asking myself what I could’ve done to deserve being treated the way you’ve treated me, and it took me until tonight to accept that the answer to that question is ‘nothing’. I’ve done nothing. You’re just mean, and twisted, and there’s no one to blame for you being such an evil bastard but you.”
“Maybe,” he cuts in. “Or … maybe my father’s to blame.”
I’m already rolling my eyes. “Fuck your father. Whoever the hell he is,” I snap. “He might be awful—and believe me, I get that—but you don’t get to use that excuse. Not here. Not with me,” I hiss. “Yeah, having sucky parents makes life harder, and it gives us a fucked up view of the world, but that’s not a crutch, West. It doesn’t give us an excuse to become awful people.”
And now, there’s a tear. I feel it rolling down my cheek and I’m sure there’s enough light coming into the room that he sees it, but I’m too pissed to care.
“I’m an idiot,” I admit. “Because you showed me exactly who you are from day one, and I let myself fall right into your trap anyway.”
I pause when a realization hits home. I’m becoming my mother despite every effort to be nothing like her. I’d spent most of my life judging her, thinking how weak she was for getting into the situations she’s landed in over the years, and here I am. Crying in front of the one person in this world who doesn’t deserve to see me cry.
“Don’t mistake me being emotional for more than it is,” I warn him. “I don’t fucking love you, West. I don’t even like you. I just stupidly let myself get attached.”
I regret even admitting that, but it’s out there now.
He pushes off from the table and I’m instantly on guard. When he stands before me, I can’t even look up at him. I’m not sure what I’ll feel if I do and I can’t afford to hate myself more than I already do.
“What do you want from me?” The rawness of his deep timbre works its way to my bones.
“I want you to be real with me,” I answer. “For once, just … give me something.”
That sounds dangerously close to pleading, but I don’t feel like myself, and it just comes out.
“You’re not here to hear about my problems,” he deflects, leaving me weary. “You say you want to know why I am the way I am, but you don’t. Not really.”
He pauses and I almost tilt my head back to meet his gaze, but I fight it.
“You don’t really want to hear me say it,” he concludes.
Instantly, I’m infuriated by these walls he casts up, frustrated by the riddles and double-talk.
“You think I came here to have this conversation with myself?” I shout. “That’s no different from the usual, West. I want you to man up and talk to me! Be honest for a change. Say something! Anything!”
I’m aware he could interpret this as desperation, but so what. It can’t be taken back. One thing I can control, however, is this obvious power play with him standing over me like I’m one of his damn subjects. So, when I can’t take it anymore, I stand from the chair. I expected him to back off and give me space, but he doesn’t even budge.
Immediately, I’m aware that I’ve made a mistake.
We’re face-to-face, and as much as I hate him right now, I feel it. That thing that’s always there, festering between us like an open wound that never heals. We’re raw, we’re damaged, making it so easy to grieve over our unspoken hurt together.
“I hate you.” My voice quivers with the admission as I peer up at him, but he takes it.
“You try, but you don’t,” he bites back, calling my bluff.
“No. I mean it. I hate you with everything in me. You’re cruel and thoughtless and—”
I lose my words when he steps closer, overwhelming me. “And … what else?” he presses.
My chest vibrates when my heart speeds up. “You’re getting off on this?” I barely speak the words higher than a whisper.
He doesn’t respond, but I know the answer to this question is ‘yes’. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.
“You’ve told me a million times I’m sick,” he reminds me. “Name one time I denied that.”
We have a standoff where neither of us speaks or moves, but then he cranes his neck down to whisper in my ear—soft, deep.
“No one handles me like you do, Southside,” he croons. “And as much as I hate to admit it, that shit’s like a fucking drug to me.”
His voice has my entire body quaking with need, but I manage to stay focused.
“Well, as flattering as that is, I’m not here to amuse you,” I snap. “I only came to you for the truth. That’s the only thing I want from you at this point.”
“Then take off your clothes.” I’m shaken by the authority in his tone. “If we’re ever going to learn one another’s truth, that’s where we’ll find it.”
A quivering breath passes between my lips, but I’m determined to resist.
“In bed? That’s where you think normal people learn one another’s true colors?” I question him sternly, wanting him to know I’m not going to break for him. Even if my body is already fighting the decision.
“Not normal people. Just us,” he answers.
My chest rises when I draw in a powerful surge of air, holding his gaze when I speak again.
“Do you think I’ve forgotten Parker
