Page 45 of Breathe Like Hell

I didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand how he could be so angry at me, but never stop caring for me, never stop trying to keep me safe. I didn’t deserve that from him. Tonight, I’d tried to sneak out of his house by myself when he was supposed to be picking food up for me, which was really fucking stupid. He should’ve let me get whatever was coming to me for that, but he didn’t.

My fingers curled in the sheets, gripping the fabric tight.

Persistent heaviness hung over me, a steady weight, an oppressive shadow.

Without giving myself another second to think about it, I crawled out of bed and tiptoed out of his bedroom towards the stairs. I didn’t hear any noise coming from the first floor, so I wasn’t sure where he was—if he was even down here. I knew Micah had a basement, though I’d never been in it.

I walked silently through the dark house, each shadow layered in my periphery like spruce trees, hiding Micah’s secrets. My bare feet were quick down the stairs, my hand gripping the railing, moonlight slanting into the living room in silvery stripes.

Micah wasn’t in the living room, so I continued through towards the back of the house.

“Micah?” I whispered, gripping the doorframe that cased the entrance to the kitchen, my legs twisted together as I spotted him sitting at the kitchen on his phone. The screen illuminated his face from below.

He lifted his head, his eyes finding mine through the darkness.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine. Do you need something?” He set his phone face down on the table.

“I just wanted to know if you were okay.” I chewed on my lower lip, squeezing the door frame tighter, anxiety branching all along the underside of my skin. “And I wanted to shower, so I wondered if you could do it with me.”

“I’m not going to shower with you tonight.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Other than cheating on me, lying to me, and disobeying me when all I want is to keep you safe?”

“You know what I meant. Like—just a few minutes ago. You⁠—”

“Drop it, Dakota. I’ll sit in the bathroom while you shower, but please stop asking me questions.” He stood up and stalked across the kitchen, then guided me to walk in front of him back upstairs. I tried not to let his tone bother me, even though it did.

We went into his en suite bathroom together and he started the water.

The shower was more of an excuse than anything—a desperate plea for some connection—but I still went through the motions of putting my hair up in a bun on top of my head, then taking off my shorts.

I stood in the middle of the bathroom in only a t-shirt with my arms wrapped around myself, waiting for the water to warm up.

Micah was just watching me.

“Are you trying to mess with me?” I said, attempting to wade through the painful tension between us.

“Does it look like I’m trying to fucking mess with you right now?” he asked angrily, instantly making me regret saying it. Another fight wasn’t my intended outcome when I decided to go downstairs to find him. He took several large steps towards me, boxing me in against the sink. “Do you seriously think I’m enacting revenge on you tonight? Is that all you think of me?”

“No,” I snapped. “It’s not what I think of you, but forgive me for asking when all I’ve gotten from you the past week are lies and games. I’m trying my best to handle everything, okay?”

“Get in the shower,” he ordered, gesturing with his hand towards the steamed-up glass. The water was hot now, and I could feel the heat rising in the air.

“Have you always been so obsessed with control, or is this new?”

There was an instant where he did nothing, everything suspended on a hitched breath, my pulse spiking with regret, guilt crawling up my spine before he’d even moved.

I shouldn’t have said that.

And then he snatched my jaw, grabbing my face so hard my eyes watered.

“Don’t you fucking dare speak to me like that. You have no idea who I am.” His stare was so cold, such a contrast to the heat of his hand, to the warm air I shakily sucked into my lungs. He looked like he wanted to hurt me. Each successive time I saw this expression on his face, it became more and more real.

“I wish I did!” I said through gritted teeth, undiluted anguish dripping into my bloodstream like clear fluid through an IV line, concentrated enough to burn in my veins.