“What shit?”
“Where you say my name and act like everything is okay and that you don’t hate me, because I know you do. I hate me too, so it’s okay, but I don’t need your fucking pity, okay? Because I know that you pulled the trigger and Peter is dead because of you!”
Bradley removes the tea towel from his shoulder and drapes it over the back of the couch as he follows me, but he maintains his distance. “I do not pit you.”
“Yes, you do!” I scream back at him. “I see it in your eyes! I see it! You look at me and I see the look of pity because how could this stupid, stupid girl not know her brother was betraying her? How could she not recognize him when they were next to each otheron all those robberies? How could she be so stupid as to fall for such a fucking stupid lie? I know you’re thinking it, I know you are!”
“Those aren’t my thoughts at all, Zira.”
“They are!” Tears spring hotly into my eyes. “I know they are! I see it every time I look in the mirr—every time you look at me! What a fucking fool, what a fucking stupid bitch! I see it and I know it, and stop staying my fucking name! You don’t get to say my name when you killed him, you killed my brother. The boy I raised all by myself when we were forgotten about, the boy I gave up my entire life for, the boy I loved because he was all I had and you—” Tears choke me, colliding with the anger in my chest.
It’s as if something twisted and terrible is trying to claw out of me and I’m letting it. I can’t stop it.
“You killed him! He was all I had, I did everything for him, and you killed him! You’re a monster and I hate you!” Suddenly, everything near me becomes a weapon, and if it’s not nailed down, it ends up in my hands and is launched at Bradley with everything I have.
Books. Coasters. Cushions. A candle dish. A photo frame or two, and even an old ashtray. What he doesn’t dodge just hits him on the chest with little issue. The ashtray shatters on the wall behind him, and the fact that he dodged infuriates me even further.
With a yell of agonized rage, I launch myself at him and pound my fists against his chest. When that doesn’t get a reaction out of him, I slap him repeatedly with all my strength until his cheek is dark red, but he still doesn’t do anything. He just stands there and takes it like it means nothing.
“Fight me!” I scream at him, punching his chest as hard as I can. “Why won’t you fight back! Why won’t you do anything! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!” Slapping him again is like slapping a brick wall and on reflex, with no real thought, I grab the lamp from the table.
Bradley moves.
He sweeps me up with one arm around my waist and drags me away from the table, removing the lamp from my reach before I’ve fully grasped it. I scream in rage, kicking and flailing my arms, and he puts me down immediately only to wrap his arms around me from behind and press his chest against my back.
“It’s okay,” he says in that ever-patient, deeply soft voice. “It’s okay.”
“Fuck off!” I scream through my tears. “Fight me! Fight me! Hit me back! You hate me, so show it! That’s what people do, so fight me! Why won’t you fight me! Why won’t you—” I choke on the next sob and dissolve into tears while my struggles to escape his warm hold fail.
“I don’t hate you,” Bradley murmurs. “Not at all.”
“I do,” I gasp as my breathlessness cuts through my tears and I pant from the exertion of my screaming, yelling, and fighting. “I hate myself. I hate me somuch, how could I not see that he hated me? How could I let him do this to me? My own brother? I hate him. And I miss him. And I hate Harris… I shouldn’t have let him escape. I shouldn’t have…”
Trailing off, my focus becomes breathing through the immense tightness gripping my chest from the inside. Tears dry on my cheeks, the scent of floral spice fills the air, and Bradley remains an anchor at my back. He doesn’t let me go and his embraceremains firm, but there’s softness to it. He holds me, his body mirroring mine as I sag forward, and then guilt blooms under my ribs.
“I don’t want to feel anything,” I gasp wetly. “It’s all too much. I can’t… I can’t do this.” Slowly, very slowly, I turn to Bradley and meet his warm, concerned gaze. “Help me.”
“You’re not angry at me, Zira. Not really.”
“I am!”
“Tell me. What do you need?”
I have no answer and can only shrug. “I-I don’t… I don’t want to feel anything anymore.”
“Cutting yourself off won’t help,” he says carefully, like every word is specifically chosen to soothe me. “You need to feel this so you can process and heal.”
“I-I hate it.”
“I know, Zira. I know.”
A sudden urge for anything other than pain, grief, and guilt washes over me, and before I know it, I’m cupping his face with his bruised cheek warming my palm. Surging up, my mouth collides with his in a kiss that starts hesitantly.
“Please,” I gasp against his lips. “I wanna feel anything but this!”
Bradley pulls away and his dark eyes lock onto mine. “What are you asking for?”
“Drown everything out,” I beg him. “Just for one night.Please.”
