“Choking someone.”
She croaks, “I…uh… Um.” Her lashes flutter, her panic ofoh no, I’m going to be caught in an attempted murderdeleting everything else that plagues her. “N-no.”
No?
I bite my cheek, because she isnottrying to tell me that she’s, actually, been previously invested in such behaviors as a means to imply it’s normal for her. She simply isn’t. Does she think she’s a good liar? A good actress? Because she really, really, really,reallyreallyreallyis not.
My heart swells so harshly ithurts, and I discover that I can’t exactly handle how much I love her. I’d kill for her. Die for her. Anything. As long as it’s all for her.
Man, the moment shegetsthat, I’m screwed.
Pitifully, I glance at her. “So I’m not special?”
Her expression provides a select curse word prior tono, but her lips tell a different story. A, notably, indecipherable one. “W-well. I… It.” Swallow. “Th-that is…”
“Azalea.”
She goes rod straight. “Yes, sir?”
“You can just tell me it was your first time, and you liked it.”
Her look could dissolve steel it’s so acidic, but she mutters, “Fine. Sure. Whatever. Let’s go withthat.”
Bringing her white-gloved hand to my lips, I hold her gaze as I kiss. “Isn’t it fun playing with power? I swear, you get a taste, and that’s it. The rush takes you. It twists the chemistry in your brain. Suddenly, people are more interesting, and you just can’t stop yourself from seeing what happens when you step on nerves.”
She is going to burn this glove. The intention sparks in her eyes a moment before she recalls that we are in public, and she can’t start fires in public. Irritated, she subdues her emotions to offer a level judgment, “Isthatwhat’s wrong with you? You’re addicted to playing with power and like lording your position over everyone?”
My brows rise. “I don’t lord over everyone.”
Her eyes narrow.
I shift my attention ahead, toward the building entrance and the covered portion of the Faerie Veil roller coaster line. The glittering, welcoming dimness within the building suggests an icy coolness that is absent out here in the spotty sunlight. Unless, of course, one is standing next to the ice queen that is my date. Sweetly, I murmur, “Mostly I just lord over you.”
Her grip on my hand tightens, cracking our bones.
“It’s how I show affection.”
“Don’t be an absolute moron, Malcolm. You make grown men cry all the time. I watch them leave your office in tatters.”
And I watch her lysol the elevator after they’re gone. We all have our little mental illnesses that the world insists on calling “quirks.”
“You’re not six,” she sneers, continuing the diatribe. “Don’t you know the era ofbeing bullied means he likes youis dead and gone? Women now have higher standards and demand the respect they deserve. Cruelty and negative attention do not translate into affection anymore.”
“I respect you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do, though. You’ve just never bothered to make me prove it.”
Exasperated, she snaps, “What does that even mean?”
“What do you think it means, little dove?”
Her narrowed eyes cut off me to peer at the encroaching front of the line. Her nose wrinkles, but she doesn’t mention my heinousness in putting us in this queue as she takes in the rest of the environment around us. Finally, she says, “Give me your phone.”
My heart rate elevates as I adjust my supply bag to get my phone from my pocket and hand it to her, mourning the loss of her palm against mine when she pulls away to take it.
Without removing her gloves, she taps the screen, and it wakes up. “What’s your password?”
