But is it even the truth?
Have Ieverdone what I wanted to do, or am I chained to some fucked-up need to fight?
I feel like a monster in his hand.
Like he caught something feral. Like he should put me down, because no one wants a dangerous animal.
Everything around us feels surreal.
The lantern glows behind Rayne and makes his hair look like a halo.
But I stay planted in place.
Because this needs to endnow.
“You punched that guy to defend me,” he says. “And I wasn’t eventhere, as far as you knew.”
My fingers twitch.
I want my knife in my hand for comfort, not because I have any desire to hold it on Rayne.
“I want to punch you, too,” I tell him.
He grips my arm harder, sliding downward until he’s holding my wrist.
He looks me up and down, and I can’t tell if it’s disappointment or desperation on his face. “Or maybe that’s adifferent urge. Maybe you just can’t tell the difference between wanting to hurt me and justwantingme, plain and simple.”
The snow just started falling again.
The flurries swirl gently behind Rayne, and time seems to slow, magnifying everything.
I can’t do this.
I can’t be here.
I can’t even protect you right, and that’s the only thing I’m good for.
The tiniest snowflakes fall between us, little white dots in the air that collect on his shoulders. I watch a couple of them fall onto his cheeks and melt away instantly.
I swallow past my tight throat. “We have to quit what we’ve been doing.”
“You say that, but your actions say otherwise.”
I can feel myself breaking down.
Piece by piece.
Like it was a joke that I ever thought I could feelwhole, anyway.
“Why me?” I say, my voice feeble. “Why does this happen to me? Why didanyof that have to happen to me—when?—”
“Are you talking about Lune, Hunter?” Rayne says.
And my instinct is to sayno.
But I think that the actual answer is yes.
My father’s abuse. My mother abandoning us.
