Page 62 of ’Til You Break

“Hannah,” I call, hoping she’ll stop long enough to let me explain.

“Stay away from me,” she shouts back.

Not going to happen.

I’ve worked too hard to get us here. I’m not letting it slip away now.

I catch up to her as she reaches her bedroom. She’s already slamming the door, probably trying to lock it, but I jam my forearm into the gap before it closes.

“Don’t come any closer.” She throws her weight against the door.

“Hannah, let me explain.”

Calm. That’s what I need to be, even with every nerve in my body screaming at me. She doesn’t yell. Instead, she backs away from the door, her fists clenched as she retreats toward the bed.

Got to admire her fighting spirit. She’s ready to make me earn every inch. God, she’s so fucking hot.

“You’re a fucking monster.” She says it with all the emotion someone might use to comment on the weather.

“I am.” There’s no point denying it.

Hannah has seen the worst of me. Not just through newspaper articles. She met him in that alley.

“But I can explain.”

“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going to sit here and listen to more of your bullshit.” Her eyes widen, confused by how calmly I’m taking this.

I step into the room, closing the distance between us without reaching for her. The shock of finding the mask has flooded her system. One wrong move...

“I’m leaving, Vik, and you’re not going to stop me.” She drives both fists into my chest.

“Yes, I am. I can’t let you go anywhere, Hannah.”

The police don’t even enter my mind. I need Hannah. Now more than ever. My crusade is almost over. I’m not ready to face whatever comes after without her.

She takes a few cautious steps back, skirting around the bed.

I let her. Maybe the distance will calm her enough to listen.

How stupid of me. The second she’s out of reach she spins and bolts for the glass doors leading to the backyard. I catch her just as she’s fumbling with the lock.

“Calm down, Hannah. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her away. Her elbow slams into my thigh. The second catches me in the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. Still, I don’t let go.

We crash onto the bed together.

A few quick adjustments and I’m on top, one hand pinning her wrist before it reaches my face, the other holding her shoulder against the mattress.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she screams. “Let go of me.”

She keeps fighting, and I let her.

A punch. A kick. Another scratch.

If she needs to burn herself out first, so be it.

“Stop, Hannah.”