Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Her beautiful, full lips twist into a mockery of a smile. "Yeah...well...maybe I want to be those things. Maybe I don’t want to be the girl who sticks to the shadows. Maybe I don’t want to be the victim anymore. A lot of shit has happened recently. Like losing the only person who ever loved me. Or my entire identity being replaced with another."
I could spend an eternity apologizing to her, but it won’t change a damn thing. She’s not ready to forgive me, and I have to accept that, just as she has to accept that I’m not going anywhere. I lean in, crowding her, and run my lips over the shell of her ear.
Shivers wreck her body, and I love watching the goose bumps erupt across her creamy flesh. Her lip curls, and she snarls like a feral animal. Using the weight of my body and the hand I have held to my chest with the glass shard in it, she pushes against me.
I tighten my grip on her, and instead of putting distance between us, she merely presses the glass deeper into my flesh. A burning sensation zips across my skin, and I bite back a groan of pain.
Gimme your worst, Flower.
Her pretty emerald eyes catch on my chest, on her hand, on the glass, inching deeper into my skin with each heartbeat. Her frightened gaze widens, but she doesn’t make a move to pull away. It’s almost like the fear and shock have her frozen in time.
"Is this what you need, Flower? Will this bring you back to me?” I grunt and shift our combined grip even further forward.
The movement pushes the glass deeper, and while there is pain, this satisfying warmth encompasses me, making the pain nothing more than a dull ache. Blood continues seeping out of the wound, its warmth spreading across my soaked T-shirt.
I don’t care what I have to do to get her back. Pain is a momentary thing. If she wants to hurt me, then I’ll let her. I’ll do any-fucking-thing to get her back. Anything.
Full lips trembling, she looks like she might cry. Fuck me, she looks beautiful when she cries.
"No, stop…this isn't what I want." The words are a whisper in the wind, and nearly missed, but just because I hear them doesn’t mean I acknowledge them. If she wants to make me believe this isn’t what she wants, she’ll have to do a better job convincing me.
I squeeze her hand to the point of pain and press harder. The glass slides through more muscle, and I suck a breath in through my teeth. Tears swim in her eyes, and I swear my cock gets harder at the image in front of me.
"Drew, stop! This isn't what I want. Hurting you doesn’t fix anything.”
"Really? I think it does. You've talked to me more in the past few minutes than you have for the past month. I'll take a thousand cuts to my heart if it means you’ll stand here talking to me for five more minutes."
Her teary gaze leaves mine, and I see how close those tears are from cascading down her cheeks. The need to show her mercy overwhelms me, and I release my hold on her hand. Pulling away completely, taking the glass with her, the cut in my chest feels empty without something in it. The spot aches and burns with each labored breath I force into my lungs. Fragments of the old Bel shine in her eyes as she drops the broken glass on the ground.
She shakes her head like this is a nightmare she can wake herself up from. I watch as she unravels, her eyes catching on her hands, which are slick with my blood.
"Why did you do that? What the fuck is wrong with you?" she snarls angrily, crossing the few feet separating us on wobbly legs.
When I don’t respond, she slams her tiny fists against my muscled chest. The air escapes my lungs in a wheeze from the impact.
All I can do is shrug. I don’t really have a reason.
"Why not? I hurt you, and you hurt me. Now we’re even. Maybe hurting me is what you needed? I was just doing what I thought was right.”
“What you thought was right?” Confusion pinches her delicate features.
I nod. “Yeah. Before I showed up at the party, you had an agenda. It was clear you were going to get drunk and party. No one was going to stop you from doing what you wanted to do, so I simply jumped on the crazy train.”
Her eyes go to ice. "Crazy train? I’m not crazy, Drew. My mother is dead. The man I thought I lo...the man I cared about betrayed me. Broke my fucking heart, actually…”
Her confession burns more than the cuts on my skin. I'm terrified for one blinding moment that I'll never be able to fix what's broken between us. And that’s just a reality I refuse to live in.