I hear the door creak, but it doesn't register. I can't breathe. Can't breathe. Fuck.
What do I do?
Bryn is clueless. She trusts me. She's so fucking beautiful. Inside, I mean. Strong, smart, resilient.
I can't give her to a monster like that. He'll use her for himself until he's had his sick fill and then sell her to the highest bidder like an old used Ford Fiesta at auction.
But if I don't? Well, that doesn't bear thinking about. I nearly vomit even considering the idea of not following through.
At what would happen.
"Rush?" A soft hand rests on my shoulder.
I flinch violently. "Fuck off." It comes out in a ragged croak.
"Hey, it's okay." She doesn't fuck off. She leans against my back, arms wrapping around my shoulders. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong. But you're not alone in it."
Fucking hell—that just makes it all the worse. She's comforting me.
"You don't know the first fuckin' thing about me," I murmur, my voice rougher than 24-grit sandpaper.
"No, I don't."
"You dunno wha’I’ve done." I can't totally make my London accent go away, but if I focus, I can smooth it out a bit, which I’ve done for her since she mentioned not being able to understand me. But right now, this upset, it's back with a vengeance and thicker than treacle.
"What have you done?"
"Wrong question, swee'art. What've I not done, more like." I growl. "Answer is, not fuckin' much. I might 'ave a pretty face but I'm a fuckin’ monster."
"I've seen no evidence of that so far, Rush. You've been rather sweet with me, actually."
This gets a laugh out of me. "Sweet? Lay off the drugs, love. One thing I ain't is sweet."
"It's all an act, baby." She rests her cheek on my back, breath plosive on my skin. "I see who you are under the cocky bad boy exterior."
"You ain’t seen shit," I snap. "An' if you do see that, you're fuckin' 'allucinatin'."
She worms her arms under mine, hugging my torso from behind, hands on my chest. "Hey, don't be grumpy with me, Rush. I know what you're doing."
"What am I doin', then?" I snap. "Coz it seems like I’m tryin' to make you understand that I'm not who you think I am."
"Pushing me away."
“Yeah, so get pushed, bitch."
She snorts. "Oooh, the B-word. If you think that's all it takes, then you don't know me very well, either."
"Nah, I don't. Don't want to, neither."
"Sorry, not buying it."
I hate her touch—because I crave it. I hate the soft bite of her words—because they sear my soul.
Her soft, small hands drift down.
"Don't," I whisper.
"Why not?"
