Does it make me heartless?
Just another mindfuck to add to the list when it comes to him.
“Drink?” Nate asks as he walks past me and goes to the kitchen, and something about the way he so casually walks off snaps me out of my shock. I march down the hallway after him, entering the kitchen to see him taking a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard.
“What the fuck was that?” I say as he pauses his movements. The silence stretches between us, and it pisses me off that he hasn’t answered me. “I said, what the fuck was that, Nate?”
“That was how I deal with things,” he says, still keeping his back to me.
“How you deal with things?” My voice is a little higher pitched than I would like but forgive me for being a little out of my depth here. “Jesus Christ, Nate, you cut his fucking hands off.”
“And he deserved it.”
“Will you fucking look at me?” I say, my frustration getting the better of me.
He turns around slowly, his eyes immediately connecting with mine and holy shit do I see a whole world of fire in his. And damn do I want to fuck him.
Does that make me messed up?
Does it mean I have less compassion than I thought I did?
“What’s the matter, Kat? Can’t you handle seeing me at my worst?” he asks, his tone low and deadly.
Somehow, I don’t think that was him at his worst. I think there is far deeper depths to this man, and for some reason, I find myself wanting to know it all.
“I’m not going to stand here and lie to you and tell you that it didn’t fucking shock me, because it absolutely did.”
“Watch”––he takes one step closer to me––“Your”––and another––“Mouth.” And he’s right in front of me in three quick strides, making my heart race and my pussy clench.
“Why? You gonna chop my hands off if I don’t?” I taunt, instantly hating myself for implying that he would hurt me.
He physically balks at my words. “Do you really think that I would hurt you?”
The look of actual hurt that crosses his face has the guilt rising up inside of me so fast that it extinguishes my worry over what happened in that basement.
“No,” I answer truthfully.
“Are you scared of me, Kat?”
“Yes,” I say as I feel tears start to sting the backs of my eyes. “But not in the way that you’re thinking.”
“Then enlighten me,” he says as he puts both arms either side of my head and rests his palms on the wall behind me, caging me in.
I feel a lump rise in my throat, and I swallow it down, because this needs to be said. Just because our relationship started off in a shitty way doesn’t mean that it has to be that way now. And if I am going to give myself to this man so completely, then we need to have an understanding. One where we can communicate and tell each other anything.
“I’m scared of this,” I say as I move my hand up between us and place it over my heart, tapping lightly. “I hated you… like, really, truly hated you when you gave me an ultimatum. My life or marry you. I don’t think I had ever despised someone so much in all my life. You took my choice away from me, something I had never had done to me before.
“But then, somewhere along the way, I realised that my life before you was merely existing, plodding along, thinking I had everything I could ever want… when actually, I had nothing. I was with a man that didn’t respect me, had a business that I should have never started because Clark was a useless ass that thought of no one but himself, and I had no close friends, no relatives… it was just me, on my own.
“And then you came along. And despite the hate you made me feel, Nate, I’ve experienced every emotion possible since I’ve been with you, and more recently, those feelings of hate have started to wither, they’re no longer present…” I let my voice drift off as he looks at me with something akin to hope.
“And now?” he says quietly, his breath feathering over my face.
“And now I’m scared of getting into this deeper because maybe I’m not strong enough to survive in this world of yours. And when the time comes when I have to walk away––because we both realise that I don’t fit in––I’m scared it’s going to fucking break me––”
“Shut up,” he says firmly, his jaw clenched.
“No, Nate, you asked me to speak so I’m fucking speaking.”
