“That nickname tainted you. Have you noticed your reaction is less intense every time I call you that?”
I hadn’t thought about that before, and his words make my heart swell. He turned a word that haunted my nightmares into something beautiful, something coming from a person who makes my heart stutter.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see his chest rise and fall rapidly, along with how fast my own moves. A look of bitterness sweeps across my face, blanking any emotions left within me as I watch his amusement. But there is also something more behind his eyes, a desperation to be accepted and not alone.
People like us are doomed to be alone, cast aside by society, and left to fend for themselves. Yet I cannot find it in me to agree with him. Instead, I find myself wanting to dismiss him in ways to get back at him for humiliating me like that, cornering me, and trying to force the truth out of me.
“If that’s how it is for you, then it must be a genetic thing, for some people are just born with tragedy set in their bones–in your case, not mine, of course.”
Lie, lie, lie. I want to scream at myself for lying so dearly to him, and the loathe I felt a second ago vanishes as soon as I see the defeat in his eyes. His hand slowly retreats, falling to his side as he takes a step back, looking at me with a gaze that shows how deep his disappointment is.
And I feel my heart breaking for deceiving him like that, although I know it is for the best. Friendships and relationships are not meant to last, and only end in tragedies and miseries. Just like my life, just like his.
When he steps away, I seize my opportunity, my feet pounding against the floor as I walk out of the room. I blink away the tears, the emotions clogging my mind and settling deep in my heart at the realization that the demons inside of him are crawling in the same way mine are. The truth is that I’m not alone after all, and I have ruined my only chance to relate to someone again.
I sprint, my ears ringing from the sound of a roar coming from his room, followed by the dull thud of a chair hitting the floor.
chapter 24
Grey
That fucking girl isgetting on my nerves. Hell, she’s even running on them, crushing them with her bare feet as if it’s her sole mission in life. What infuriates me the most is the way my body reacts to her, acting like a goddamn teenager all over again. I never asked for this. I never asked for feeling like this around her, and if I could, I would command my body to stop, because that’s the only thing that will keep my heart alive and intact. The only person allowed inside my empty heart full of void and nothingness is my little brother, the rest of my heart is rotten, with no means of ever growing as flowers do.
My eyes follow her petite figure as she hurries out of my room, storming out into the corridor with a slight sway of her hips when she walks. Those cargo pants don’t cling to her body, but I can still make out the curves of her hips, her ass. She is breathtaking, and that doesn’t bode well. In fact, it’s a doom that will take me to hell’s gate.
I stand still, holding my breath as I watch her walk away. The fucking audacity she has. The rage fuels my body, causing my chest to heave as I frantically try to take deep breaths, but it doesn’t work. She is infuriating and gets on my nerves, she is everything I cannot afford to have in my life. There is only a couple of weeks left until I transfer to the new program, which will lead to my freedom if I have a clean record, and I will not allow her to fuck up this opportunity. Not when I am so close to my freedom, and then I will leave the country, never to look back again.
I cannot help the rage surging through me, a never-ending storm of anger that balls my hands into fists as I seethe through my teeth.
Get a grip on yourself, Grey.
As if that will work.
My frustration leaves my body in a roar, and all I see is red in front of me as I walk over to the plastic chair by my desk. Without thinking of the consequences, I throw it across the room, leaving a soft thud echoing through the walls. It does nothing to soothe my anger, and I’m about to storm after her, feeling the need to fuck the senses into her. I see the way she looks at me, the way she eye-fucks me every time she lays her eyes on me. Maybe taking her brutally until she whimpers beneath me, craving and begging for more, would get some sense into her.
The anger is still fresh in my veins, and I feel my body trembling from the adrenaline, the need to hit something again or fuck her. Shit, I’m still hard for her, my cock straining against my boxers.
I’m so fucking screwed.
Just as I am about to step foot into the corridor to go after her, two heavily armed guards stand before me, blocking the doorway out of my room. One of them is bald, with muscles bigger than mine as if he works out twice a day, and he is at least six-feet-six, towering over my six-feet-one like a lookout tower. A growing sense of frustration fills me when I realize I’m still stuck in my room.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
In the corner of my eye, I make out the other guard, this one with a lengthy beard and long, dark-brown hair, reaching for the holster around his waist where he has a gun stored. A feeling of confusion washes over me as I remember that guns are not accepted here for the safety of the patients.
“We have orders to take you to your appointment,” the bald guard says, his voice raised as if I couldn’t hear him if he spoke in a normal tone.
“What appointment?”
I have no recollection of having a meeting today, and if I did, I would go there myself, not be escorted by two giant guards who could crush me with a single punch. I’m tall and strong, but they have a strength that surpasses mine, and while it makes me feel uneasy, I cannot help but admire their power. Neither of the guards takes any notice of me, although the one with the brown hair–who is almost as tall as the other–removes a pair of hand claws from his holster and firmly clasps my wrists into them.
“What’s this for?”
The surprise I felt was fleeting, and the anger I feel so often is back, the one emotion that never seems to waver. Exhausting as it may be, it’s also a good feeling; it makes me feel alive and not some empty shell detached from all emotions. Once more, I’m met with silence, and I sigh in agitation, struggling to block out the sensation of being restrained by handcuffs. I force myself not to remember the incident that took place a year ago. It only brings trouble and makes me feel more than only anger. Anger is the most predominant emotion in my life, and it’s something that I have become so accustomed to that I don’t want to let it go. Feelings of anger can push you forward, while sadness can weigh you down.
The guards begin to pull me toward them in a tight grip as if I can’t move myself. There’s no point trying to fight them. They’ll get me where they want me, whether I like it or not. I feel the weight of other patients’ gazes on me. Obnoxious people that can never seem to mind their own business, putting their noses in things that don’t concern them. I don’t let the situation break me. Instead, I stand firm and hold my head up high, looking straight into the eyes of the curious onlookers.
When my eyes meet theirs, they immediately turn around, suddenly too frightened to do anything but stand in silence. Maybe they saw something in my eyes, I’m sure I look like a dead freak right now, but that doesn’t bother me.
