From the look on his face, he was suffering plenty. Fearless, that's what he was. But looking at him now, he looked almost terrified, like the ship was sinking, and the last lifeboat was filling up fast. I wanted to rescue him. And I wanted to throw him overboard.
Damn it, Chloe. Just stop.I wrapped my arms tight around my body, both for warmth and to keep myself from melting into him. Or slapping him silly. Or both.
There was a word for how he made me feel.
Psychotic.
Just like him.
"Alright, here's the deal," I said. "You –" I lifted a hand to point at his chest "– need to stay the hell away from me. Stay away from where I work. Stay away from where I'm living. And stay away from anywhere else you think I might be."
"Chloe–"
"You already said that."
"Please." His voice was ragged, and he moved toward me, slowly, like he knew he shouldn't but couldn't seem to make himself stop.
I raised my voice. "I mean it."
He stopped, his expression anguished, but his body rigid. The muscles in his forearms were coiled masses of restrained force matched only by the look of absolute control that slowly settled over his face.
"Chloe, please. Hit me. Yell at me. Do something." His voice choked. "Anything but this."
My heart twisted at the sight of him. But I couldn't afford to let him know that. Not after what he'd done. And I couldn't afford to encourage him either. This had to be over, once and for all.
"You heard me," I said, turning to go.
"Chloe." It was an odd, strangled sound. "Wait. Please."
Slowly, I turned back to face him. "For what?"
"I know what you're thinking," he said.
I crossed my arms. "I seriously doubt that."
"I can see it all over your face. You're thinking talk is cheap."
"So?"
"So you don't want someone to beat my ass? I get that. But you want me to pay, am I right?"
I shrugged.
"Believe me, Chloe. Iwantto pay."
Oh God, he wasn't going to offer me money, was he? Lord knows I could use it. But the whole idea made me just a little bit sick.
I recalled him peeling off those hundreds for Brittney. It had happened that first time I'd been inside his house. Officially, the money was payment for a destroyed purse. Unofficially, it felt like something a whole lot different. I'd seen the look in his eye when she'd taken the cash.
It wasn't so much a judgment as a dismissal, like she'd lived down to his expectations, and he didn't give a crap one way or another.
But my integrity, it wasn't for sale. "I don't want your money," I said.
"I know."
"You don't know anything," I said.
"I know you want something else."
