Blood, guts, blood, Eli’s screams, more blood.
“It’s like he wanted to humiliate you,” West mutters, and I frown, surprised at his words, but he won’t meet my eyes. He’s focused on the flowers, his fingers pulling at the petals. “What are these? Is that actual fucking wheat?” He yanks out a stalk I hadn’t noticed. “And daisies? Dahlias? Is he kidding?”
“What is your problem?” I ask firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. “These are pretty.”
At last, he meets my eyes, and a mix of emotions flashes across his face. With his usual irritated scowl and his hair a messfrom sleep, he looks… adorable. And the fact that he’s arguing with me over flowers only adds to it.
“My problem is that this is ridiculous,” he says with a mocking laugh. “They don’t even look good aesthetically. Did he pick them out blindfolded?”
I bite back a chuckle. “Oh, please. You’re the one being ridiculous. What’s this about? Are you jealous?”
His eyes roll, and his nostrils flare, showing his never-ending frustration. “Because of that idiot? Hardly. It just annoys me.”
“What, exactly?”
“The fact that he had the nerve to send this junk to a woman like you.”
A smirk spreads across my face as my eyebrows shoot up. “A woman like me?”
He studies me, his gaze sweeping over my shorts and the thin T-shirt. It feels like he’s stripping me with his eyes, and I feel a strange blend of embarrassment and a warm flutter in my lower stomach.
“A woman who deserves more than this trash,” he says, and for once since this conversation began, there’s no mockery in his tone. He actually means it. “Something a lot prettier, a lot more thoughtful—something that would bring out a real smile, not that awkward one you forced.”
Funny how I look far from decent now, in my baggy shirt, swollen-from-sleep face, and tangled hair tied in a haphazard bun. Still, it doesn’t stop him from looking at me like I’m the prettiest in the world. It feels like he sees a completely different picture of me—the one I’ve always wanted to see in a reflection but never succeeded in seeing. It’s not the first time he’s hinted at how beautiful I am or how I deserve everything.
Realizing what he’s done, West clears his throat awkwardly and runs a hand through his hair. I open my mouth to speak, butno words come out. His azure eyes lock onto mine for a moment, and a heavy silence falls over us.
I wait for him to say something, to correct himself, or remind me of his true nature, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands there, awkwardly glancing between me and the floor, like a high schooler caught in the act.
A strange sensation spirals through my system, followed by a prickling itch in my hands. I’m frozen in place when, suddenly, an invisible force nudges me forward. Without fully realizing it, I take a step closer to him. He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he notices, but when he steps toward me, I snap. The tension weighs heavily on my shoulders as I lower my head and briskly walk out of the kitchen, leaving him alone.
A force twists at my knees, urging me back to him. But I can’t bring myself to go. This is too much—heis too much. His words, his actions, the way he looks at me—it’s all too fucking much.
It was never supposed to be like this.
He evokes something pure, fresh, and unsettling inside me, and that makes me question everything I used to believe.
He evokes a feeling I’m not sure I can handle.
A feeling I don’t deserve.
Flashback
Age 18
The day of
Ajolt runs through my body, snapping me wide awake. I try to open my eyes, but all I see is darkness in front of me. Still slightly groggy from sleep, I spot a silhouette emerging from the shadows—a figure cloaked in darkness, wearing it like a second skin. A distant murmur attempts to reach my ears, but it’s drowned out by the heavy thudding in my head. It takes me a moment to realize that Dad is trying to wake me.
I jump upright, yanking the headphones out of my ears. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and I feel sweat pooling on my back from the fear pulsing in my skull. Dad will kill me for this. He didn’t know I bought new headphones until now. He’ll see it as disobedience, and the punishment for that will be far worse than anything I can imagine.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I blurt out, clumsily rolling up the wires and shoving them into the pocket of my pajama pants, clinging to the faint hope that he didn’t see them in the dark. “I was?—”
“It’s okay, son,” he interrupts, his voice calm as ever. I freeze, bracing myself for an outburst, but nothing comes. I nearly choke when he places his hand on my shoulder and rubs a reassuring circle.
Dad has been getting angrier lately. There were a few failed attempts to create a clearer product, costing him a lot of money, time, and chemicals. Many people have suffered because of that, and I’ve been their executioner.
