“If you did, you wouldn’t have lied about this.”
“When I started, I thought it was just a crush and it would go away—”
“So you were fine with hurting me?”
“You were fine with hurting me! I was looking out for myself, same as you. It was clumsy and ugly. I was trying to protect myself from you, who I thought you were, who I’d heard you were, who I’d only ever experienced you as.”
He dropped me, turning to leave without another word.
I grabbed him. “Wait. Wait. Then I got to know you, and…you’re so much more than I should ever deserve. I didn’t realize how much my lie would hurt until it was too late.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. A vicious look flashed across his face that only pissed me off. “Just look what you’re doing to me! You all want my heart, but no one wants to protect it.”
“Are you comparing me to him?” It came out on a growl.
I raised my chin, eyes burning. “How are you different? You keep me in the dark. You take pieces of me to build yourself up. You’re all the same. I’m sorry the lie hurt, but I’m not sorry I lied.” I slowly stood. “At some point this becomes about survival. You wrapped your heart in thorns, and I buried mine in secrets.”
His eyes softened, and for a moment I thought he understood.
Then he looked me up and down like dirt. “You’re just like every other whore looking for a piece of me.”
“It’s not about you. You don’t get those pieces of me!” I screamed, throat and lungs and soul hoarse with the effort.
He slammed his hands on either side of me. “I get all pieces of you,” he growled.
He pressed me back against the wall, pressing his clothed body into my naked one. The molding bit into my back, and his silky sleep pajamas rubbed against my thighs. His eyes searched mine, furious, and something else…a dark, hidden need.
“Is that why you’re doing this?” I whispered. “Because I lied?”
Something flickered across his brow; then he stepped back, saying coldly, “Yes.”
It didn’t feel right.
None of this did.
“I don’t believe you,” I whispered.
It was his turn to shoot me an uncertain look.
He wiped it away with his apathetic mask. But I saw through that now. Something was wrong. Something he wasn’t telling me. There was something weighing his shoulders to the point of collapse.
“The contract is void,” he said coldly. “But I have the girl, so I’m feeling fucking generous. The rest of the money will be in your account tomorrow. Your job is done. Get out of Crowne Hall. Never come back.”
“You know I can’t leave!” I yelled at his back. “My uncle is dying.”
He paused. “You have no place here, Snitch. The cooks won’t take you. The maids won’t take you. Do you expect free room and board? There’s only one way you stay.”
With each second that passed, the brittle wire protecting my heart snapped. I saw what he was implying, the ugly expectation.
“No,” I whispered. “Don’t say it. I’d sooner rip out my heart, but…I’ll leave. I will. Just let me stay until Uncle p-passes. You won’t even notice me. I’ll live in my old room.”
“That room is taken now.”
“I’ll stay with my uncle. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He shook his head.