From what I’ve gathered, Brett is having a rough couple of weeks. Shortly after Betsy’s quiet oath,his fancy, expensive car “blew up”, his father had an unfortunate financial issue, and at least one college co-ed in town filed a suit against Brett for leaking a sex video a few months ago.
Even with the damage I caused to his physical being, this is a nice bonus. Is it enough to atone for what he has done to Ash, to these other women? Not even a little, but it’s a nice start.
I should have killed him.
Miss Alice came in for coffee and told her morning buddy about how Brett was, unfortunately, accosted in the park. Apparently, there was a baseball bat used and some teeth lost.
I, of course, was unbearably sad.
Mostly that I didn’t get to cost him any of those fancy fake teeth.
I briefly considered asking Betsy what, exactly, she had put into place for Brett. However, Betsy’s satisfied smile at his misfortune and simultaneous snarl when his name was mentioned was enough for me to decide against it. I may be a warrior, but this female scares the shit out of me.
I have a knot on my head, bruises everywhere, and I’m not fucking happy about it.
I’m less happy that Flint has refused to touch me since “the incident”. Sometimes, he can barely look at me. Other times, I can feel the weight of his gaze. Does he think I’m going to buckle, to break? Is he looking for evidence of my damage? Bad shit definitely feels like it’s following me and, fuck, maybe Iamthe drama.
I’m trying to process an order when I feel him.
I feel his gaze, his presence, and never hear his footsteps. Flint is always quiet, maybe channeling his inner predator. Always watchful. I used to find comfort in it, in the security of it, but right now — it curls uneasily in my stomach.
He doesn’t say anything. He’s just… hovering. Close, but not too close. I reach for a box and my shirt rides up.
His eyes dart away.
Quickly. Too quickly. My heart sinks and I feel my throat get tight.
I hold the box tightly, fingers flexing against the cardboard, like the weight of these books will keep me anchored. “You don’t have to act like I’m about to break.”
Flint flinches, recoiling like I’ve slapped him.
“I’m not.”
But his voice. Too careful. Too neutral. Too much precise, measured distance between us.
The feeling I’ve been fighting, that feeling of being dirty, intensifies.
“You can go. I’ve got this.”
I don’t look at him as I speak. I can’t.
To my despair, Flint doesn’t argue. He just nods, once, and walks away.
The silence he leaves behind is unbearable.
Casie wakes from a nightmare. She’s drenched in sweat. I hear her labored breathing, the sound of prey, and it pulls me from the light sleep I was engaging in on the couch.
I haven’t slept next to her since the night of Brett’s attack. I haven’t done more than doze lightly.
She’s curled up, knees to her chest. I can see her trembling from here. I just want to hold her. Gods, I want to. But I hesitate from shoving myself up, afraid.
“Cas,” I say, softly.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look at me. Her breath is ragged, shallow. Strained.
“What do you need?”
She shakes her head.
