Page 46 of Breathe Like Hell

“No. You don’t.”

“Micah!” I screamed when he tightened his grip, fingers digging into my cheeks. I felt each dull point of pain scattered across my jaw on my heart too. Like his hand wasn’t on my face, but inside my ribcage, trying to squeeze me to death. And yet, the cruel look on his face hurt me worse than the force of punishing grip. It bruised some intangible part of me. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“For what to happen?”

“For me to come downstairs and fuck everything up even more,” I cried. “I just wanted to be with you.” His hold on my face loosened, the angry lines between his brows smoothing ever so slightly. “I feel better when I’m with you. Even when you’re mad at me. I know I deserve whatever punishment you need to give me. And I want you to know that I can take it.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, voice rough, grip tightening more than ever, like my gentleness only made him need to be harsher to me. I had the dizzying sense that he was arguing with someone other than me, and I only happened to be here by sheer unluckiness. As if I’d been dropped in the middle of something much more vast than I could see.

“It’s true. I⁠—”

“Why would I believe you?” The volume of his voice increased and the steam was too thick in the air now, making me lightheaded. My pulse beat hard in my throat. He looked furious with me for daring to do something as simple as care about him, angry that I existed at all.

“You told me you’ve been lying to me!” I tried to be louder, to keep the tremor from my voice, but it was impossible. “Why would I believe you?”

“Because you don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, I do,” I protested weakly.

His hand finally slid off my jaw, his fingers wrapping around my throat instead—not tight enough to restrict my air, but enough to make my head feel fuzzier than it already was. I held the edge of the sink to keep myself upright.

“I gave you your opportunity to back out of this, and you didn’t take it. You’re mine, and that doesn’t change for anything.”

It doesn’t change for anything, even if it hurts us both.

Especially if it hurts us both.

I didn’t want to think about Mason now, but I was. It was difficult for me to make any comparison between him and Micah because they were so similar—but with such vital and distinctive differences that they almost didn’t feel similar at all. They both had their darkness, but in different shades. Their hurt destabilized me in different ways.

I couldn’t find my footing.

I hadn’t been able to for months.

My entire life is a ticking time-bomb, and there’s nothing I can do to brace for the devastation that will ensue once everything inevitably explodes.

“I know,” I whispered, unsure if he’d even be able to hear me over the sound of the water pummeling the tiles. “I don’t want it to change.”

His gaze fell to my mouth and his expression softened, near-imperceptibly.

He blinked slowly and it made me want to cry because I wished I knew what he was thinking, even if it ruined me.

“You’re very hard to read,” I said even quieter than before.

“I know.”

“And I’m sorry.” My voice caught on the word and Micah’s eyes flicked upward, locking onto mine and penetrating straight through to my soul.

“I know you are.” He moved his hand to brush his thumb over my lower lip, then up across my cheekbone, touching me gently. How long will this gentleness last? “But I know you’re not going to stop, so I can’t stop either.”

The fact that I couldn’t argue with him about this assumption felt like a vise on my lungs. My oldest companion—my shame. I can never stop doing the wrong thing. Why can I never stop?

“What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. We’ll figure something out.” He traced the baby hairs around my face that were too short to stay in my bun.

“Nothing’s going to be over, right?”

“I just told you nothing was ever going to be over, Dakota. You have these misconceptions about yourself and how you think I feel about you. I feel more than you know.”