I cried, scooting away from him on the bed as he stalked around my room.
“Let me go,” he mocked me, repeating my words. “Why can’t you shut up? Why can’t you all just shut the fuck up?”
“I will hate you if you do this to me,” I fought. “I’ll despise you and never stop trying to escape you, because I could never love you. Because you’re sick, and I hate the way you make me feel! I could never love you.”
A clutter went crashing to the floor, and I knew he’d shoved everything off my dresser.
But I didn’t stop. “And I hate myself around you,” I told him, saying anything to hurt him. “I hate what I let myself do with you, because the only way I can get you away from me is to get it over with!”
“That’s not true,” he bit out.
I climbed off the bed, facing where his voice was coming from. “You’re such a little boy. A child who can’t control himself. A disease!”
More went crashing to the floor, and I heard my mirror shatter in his little tantrum, but I only grew stronger.
“So come on,” I dared him. “Fuck me. Do the only thing you know how to do, because it’s all you can take from me anyway, and I don’t give a shit about any of it! Take the house. Take the family who left me here with you. Take the fucking clothes off my back and make me walk out of here naked!” Sobs filled my throat, but I refused to let them loose. “I would gladly do it if it meant getting away from you!”
He rushed up to me, grabbing the back of my neck. “You were in love with me.”
“It wasn’t the real you. It was nothing but an act!”
I slapped his hand away and shoved him in the chest.
“You shouldn’t have killed her,” I said, digging deep for the worst fucking things that would ever come out of my mouth. “She was the only one who was ever going to love you. She was the only one who wanted to touch you and take care of you and be around you!”
He breathed hard, labored, like he was struggling for air.
“Everyone else you have to hold prisoner!” I snarled. “You have nothing and no one! No one can stand you!”
“S…s…stop,” he gasped, sucking in air. “Just please stop.”
“I hate you!”
“Winter, please don’t,” he begged, and then I felt him move away, his body hitting the wall and sliding to the floor. “Please stop. Just stop.”
He grunted, like he was in pain, and I stood there, still hot from my fury and tears welled in my eyes, threa
tening to fall.
He said again, barely a whisper, “Please stop. Please.”
I stood there, my fingers curled into fists. What was wrong with him?
Why wasn’t he storming out or charging for me and throwing me on the bed like he threw me on the floor in the haunted house?
He just sat there, the air pouring in and out of his lungs, turning calm after a few minutes, but I fisted my hands, staying charged.
Who was he? Who the hell was he?
He was a machine. A monster. A liar.
What the fuck was I supposed to do? What did he want from me?
But he didn’t say anything. He just sat there. Quiet.
Until finally I heard his voice again, solemn and calm. “My father had this rottweiler,” he said, “who was pregnant with mutts when I was about seven. He let me have one of them. Not sure what happened to the rest, though.”
I swallowed the tears in my throat, still standing rigid and ready.