Page 162 of Relapse

Silas gave me a stern look. “I’m not sorry for that part. I’m sorry for what his death could have done to your family, not for the pain I caused that bastard.”

I couldn’t respond to that.

“I hope he burns in hell,” Silas added, fist clenching at his side.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Sometimes I do too.”

Then Silas reached out. I flinched away from him. “Don’t.”

If he touched me, it would be over. The last time we touched was when I grabbed his hand as we laid on the pavement. When I thought we might both die.

“I’m more sorry for ruining your trust in me,” Silas whispered, his face inching closer.

I squinted my eyes shut, trying to block him out. The closer he came, the greater the impulse I had to kiss him.

I felt a little tug at the hem of my shirt and my eyes opened.

“Didn’t you miss me?” Silas smirked, and God, that expression undid something me. “At all? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”

Of course I had. I wanted to scream that I had missed him. I missed him so much that right now, my body physically hurt. It was like a part of me had been empty without him. Every breath he took, every little tilt of his head reminded me of the last time he touched me. I hated how much of a hold he still had on me. But I couldn’t hand him that power again. Not again.

Because it would be different this time, I knew it.

Silas wasn’t ready for the sober me. He’d only known me as a cross-faded sex addict that couldn’t stop popping pills. He didn’t know any version of me other than the one I was trying to kill.

And I couldn’t take it. Being abandoned by him too, once he figured out I was done with the past experiences that once bonded us.

So I had to act first.

“No,” I whispered, and the deceit tasted rotten. “I haven’t missed you.”

He rolled his eyes, reading me with little to no effort. “You’re lying.”

I eased myself forward, my chest bumping his, our noses touching slightly—needing the contact even as I pretended to be angry. “You seem to think you know everything.”

Silas’s eyes traced over my face. My lips. Back to my eyes again. “Not everything,” he murmured.

Oh, fuck.

“In case you hadn’t heard,” I went on, “I lie about a lot of things.”

Silas remained silent, although that infuriating smile continued to tug at the corner of his lips. He was waiting me out, patiently. It infuriated me to think that I was even amusing him.

So I let it all out. Unleashed what I was holding back.

“I lied about the drugs, I lied about Delane, I lied about my fucked up family life, and I’ve lied to you countless times. What if I told you every kiss, every moan, every hour we spent together, was a lie?” My voice was shaking despite my best effort to sound ruthless. “Or if I told you that the only thing I felt between us was fueled by alcohol? And pills? That it wasn’t real.” Our lips were millimeters from touching, and my whole body screamed at me to close that gap. “What would you say then?”

Silas looked hurt. But I knew by the fire in his eyes, it wasn’t enough. “Then I’d tell you to prove it,” he challenged, his chest heaving.

“You couldn't handle it,” I purred, even as my heart beat wildly, all the way up into my ears.

Silas narrowed his eyes. “Try me.”

My lips seized his before I could stop myself, imprisoning us both in a searing kiss. I glided my tongue into his willing mouth, desperate to maintain control of this—control of anything really, when I really felt like I was going off the rails.

Silas pressed his body into mine, good hand grasping my face, splinted one wrapping around my back, trying to pull me closer. I could feel myself sinking rapidly, like quicksand, into him.

I growled and ripped myself from his clutches. He was momentarily stunned, but had no time to think before I seized him by the shoulders, pushing him roughly into the wall next to us. I needed to dominate this, needed to pretend I wasn’t the one falling apart.