Page 41 of The Quiet After The Fall

“Fucking hit me, Thorne.”

I won’t do it. I can’t.

“She moans so loud when she comes…and her pussy. It’s⁠—”

My ears are ringing as I swing again. Twice. Three times. The wood shudders in my hands and my shoulders ache and I go until I can’t anymore, until the rage has left my chest, until I’m standing there breathing hard and looking at the carnage I caused.

His door is dented, the entire side scratched up. I know it could have been much worse and a small part of me wishes I went for the windshield. How fucked up is that?

Knox is still standing behind me with his hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. He’s watching me like I’m a live wire, but this is what he wanted.

Then he closes the distance slowly and my hands are shaking and it’s all hitting me. What I just did.

“Shh,” he says, gently taking the mop from my hand. “It’s okay.”

His voice has lost all its edge. This is the version of Knox I can’t fight, I have no defense when he’s looking at me like this and speaking softly.

He reaches up and moves a strand of hair off my face. His fingers are warm. I feel his touch everywhere, down my throat, behind my sternum, in my gut.

We’re chest to chest and I can feel the warmth coming off him. His eyes drop to my mouth and come back up and neither of us moves or speaks. I’m so fucking tired. Bone deep exhausted.

“I hate you,” I say. God, I sound as wrecked as I feel.

“I know.” His forehead drops toward mine and his thumb grazes my cheek. “You should hate me. It’s what I deserve.”

“Why?”

It’s all I can manage to say. I know he understands what I’m asking. He’s quiet for a moment as he drags a hand through his hair.

“Because I’d rather this version of you than nothing at all. Because I know exactly what I’m doing to you and I can’t stop.”

I close my eyes. That’s the most honest thing he’s said to me in months, maybe ever, and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what to do with any of this—the coffee he left on my desk, the way he followed me out here, how he’s looking at me right now like I’m the only fixed point in a room that’s spinning.

“You need to stop,” I say, feeling the hurt releasing with the words. “Let me go. Be with her.”

“No.” He’s reaching for me but pulls back. “You’re it for me. You’re all I want. All I’ve ever wanted.”

I look at the dent in his door, then back at his face and feel numb. “You have a shitty way of showing it.”

Then I drop the mop and walk away. I know I’ll get in trouble for leaving it there. Maybe get written up. But I don’t care. I need to get out of here. Away from Knox. Away from this place. The pull is stronger than it’s ever been before.

“Please,” he says, his voice echoing in the dark. “I’m sorry. That was—I don’t know why I do that to you.”

“Go home,” I say. “And don’t contact me again.”

As I push through the back entrance and head directly to my locker, I feel nothing. As I get my keys and walk to my car, I’m still numb. It’s not until I’m halfway back to my apartment and I pass by the train tracks do the tears come and they don’t stop for hours.

Chapter 11

Knox

When I leave the hotel, I drive around town for an hour then head to my parents’ house. I have no idea why, since it’s the last fucking place I’d normally want to be. But now my apartment is no longer my own and the thought of walking in there and looking Ella in the eye is too much. I can’t fucking do it.

It’s quiet when I walk in, no sound coming from the kitchen. No movement coming from my father’s office. Maybe they’re asleep, even though it’s only nine. More than likely, they’re both too inebriated to notice someone else in the house anyway.

I kick off my shoes by the door and head into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge. The cool glass soothes the ache in my palms from clenching my fist against the wheel. But one sip and I barely taste it going down. It wets my lips but I still feel dry and empty.

Upstairs, I head into the guest room and am hit with an entire space covered with wedding decor. Fake florals, fabric draped on the bed, centerpieces, vases. So much shit, it’s hard to believe my mother got it all up here on her own. Then there’s all her clothes. She must have decided she needed extra closet space and that the guest room is just the thing.