The only thing I feel is irritated that they keep showing his stupid face every ten minutes.
Because every time they do, all I can hear is him laughing about Ophelia. Saying her name. Touching her.
Mine.
By lunch, I need air and nicotine. Preferably both.
The boys’ bathroom near the gym stays mostly empty during this period, so I slip inside and lean against the sill in the far corner beside the sinks.
The cigarette burns hot in my lungs while I lean back against the tiled walls staring at the ceiling.
Everything feels too loud lately.
The Mill.
Jameson getting shot.
Ryker hunting Russians.
Ophelia pretending Brayden matters to her.
It's exhausting.
The bathroom door suddenly slams open hard enough to rattle the mirrors. I already know who it is before I even look up.
Firefly.
Ophelia storms inside looking furious. Blonde curls wild around flushed cheeks while those blue eyes lock onto me like she’s seconds away from either crying or committing a felony.
Probably both.
“Well,” I mutter around the cigarette, “this feels illegal.”
“Cut the shit, Hayden,”
Angry.
Definitely angry.
I flick the ash into the sink lazily.
“You usually sneak into the men’s bathroom for all your arguments or am I special?” I ask, and her eyes narrow.
“Why did you kill him?” she asks, getting straight to it.
Interesting.
I tilt my head slightly. “Who?”
“The guy from the warehouse.” Her voice shakes. “The one that’s missing.” I take another slow drag from the cigarette while watching her carefully.
“You accusing me of something, Firefly?” I ask, with a smirk.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. That shouldn’t turn me on.
Unfortunately… it absolutely does, because Ophelia looks prettier when she’s furious at me. All flushed skin. Trembling rage barely hiding heartbreak underneath and those tears that make her blue eyes so light it’s like looking into glass.
