“I could ask you the same thing,” she started. “You hurt me and then dress it up as a necessary means to an end. You destroy my choices and call yourself honest. You wanted me here, so you made me afraid enough to come.”
“Yes. All of that is true.”
“Then do not sit there pretending I am the only monster in this room.”
She watched me intently while I stood. Chin lifted, eyes bright.
“I have never thought you were the only monster in any room,” I said.
Her breathing changed. I heard it. She had moved closer without noticing. I left enough space for her to step back, but she did not.
“I think you resent me because I look at the worst thing you have done and I do not flinch,” I told her.
“You do not know the worst thing I am capable of.”
She was close enough now that I could see the faint pulse in her throat. The rain kept falling against the glass, steady and quiet, while the apartment filled with the sound of her breathing and mine.
“Don’t come closer,” she said.
“I have not moved.”
“You are thinking about it.”
She should have walked away. I should have given her the room. Neither of us did.
Rain slid down the windows. The city beyond them disappeared. Miss Astoria jumped down from the ledge and padded toward the hallway, abandoning us with the cold intelligence of an animal who had no interest in human ruin unless it came with treats.
“Tell me to stop,” I said.
Her eyes flashed. “You have not started anything.”
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because if I start, you need to know you can make me stop.”
“You think that makes this clean?”
“No.”
“Then what does it make it?”
“Yours.”
She understood what I was giving her. Ownership and choice. She had spent years stealing both from other people. Now I handed them to her and waited.
She stared at me for several seconds. Then she closed the distance and kissed me. It was not soft. Her hands grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me down hard. She kissed like she wanted to punish me for making her want this. Like every fear she had carried since the courtyard had turned into heat.
I stayed still for one second longer than instinct wanted, letting her take the first move. Then I kissed her back. She made a sharp sound against my mouth. My hands found her waist. She stiffened for half a breath, then pressed closer. When I touched her, she did not pull away. She stepped into it, into me, and the anger in her turned into something deeper.
“I’m still angry with you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I know.”
