Page 216 of Breathe Like Hell

Death by a thousand cuts.

It wasn’t his fault. I didn’t even know why I hadn’t wanted him to top me that night. Too many bad thoughts. Not enough control. I should’ve been honest with him, should’ve told him I wasn’t doing well and needed help, but I was too much of a fucking coward to do that, so it all caught up with me in a single night. My white lies and my walls up as tall as I could put them, trapping me in a nightmare I couldn’t admit to him.

That was the night I wished I couldn’t remember. The vulnerability I’d felt was enough to kill me, even in my memories. The only person I’d ever let come that close to me, suddenly turning on me, hurting me, forcing me, unaware of what he was even doing. Trying to do what’d been unwillingly done to me once before. I’d been so addicted to the drug of him needing me that I let it get out of hand, let him push me to a place where I could no longer hold all of him, too ashamed to tell him I couldn’t do it anymore.

He was a storm I couldn’t bottle, and I’d known that from the start.

I’d just been hoping he’d prove me wrong at some point. Hoping I’d prove myself wrong.

I couldn’t ignore the way I made him worse. I was the one who craved his reliance, who put far too much faith in my own abilities, foolishly believing that I might’ve been the one person in the universe capable of withstanding his darkness, his Thrausian strength, his brutal instability. The only person capable of truly loving him the way he deserved.

None of those statements were true.

I wasn’t capable of withstanding him, and I wasn’t the only one who could love him.

Dakota loved him now.

And she did it so much better than I did.

She’d kept him alive her entire life without knowing.

I couldn’t do it the way she could.

His mouth opened and closed, his expression anguished, his throat bobbing when he swallowed. But all he could do was remain silent. His voice was still gripped hard in my shaking fist, and I wasn’t going to fucking give it back.

I didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say about this.

Didn’t want his apologies, his pity, his horror.

I already knew what he was thinking, knew how he saw me. He saw me scared, all my armor stripped off, the broken core exposed.

It was impossible enough to tell him this in terms as vague as I was. I couldn’t stand it if he had the ability to ask questions or make comments or even some noise of pity towards me. If he needed the truth, he could have it. But I wasn’t going to give him anything else from me.

He was the only person who knew what’d happened to me in Heaven. The only person with that kind of power over me.

And I’d just given him so much more of it.

“Leave,” I ordered, hating the unsteadiness of my voice. “I don’t want to ask twice. I’ll force you if I have to.”

His eyes were glossy with unshed tears. His throat worked around words he’d been robbed of. His shoulders were slumped, as if all the fight and anger had fallen out of him.

Finally, he took one hesitant step backward.

Then another, never taking his eyes off me. Another and another.

His hand brushed the doorknob on the front door, but he didn’t turn it immediately.

He lingered just long enough for every year between us to start to feel meaningless, for me to almost believe we could still undo this, for me to wonder if I could survive him knowing me again. Just long enough for hope to become cruel.

Then he left.

Just like I’d told him to.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

DAKOTA

Micah hadn’t spoken to me since picking me up from my trailer for dinner. Every inch of ground I’d gained with him had been seemingly ripped away, and I’d been shoved several yards backwards. It was making me feel sick.