Page 11 of Mercy & Malice

This motherfucker. “Fuck off,” I state before Mom rushes to me, covering the microphone with her hand.

“Brooke Elise Guidry. That’s enough.”

Right. Because these rich assholes can do whatever they want, but I’m the one who needs to bite my tongue.

She shifts in front of me and doesn’t give me the option to finish my announcements before she works to smooth over my outburst. It’s not something I normally would do. Well, yes. Maybe it is. I just usually don’t have a microphone when I tell Julian to fuck off.

Standing on the stage behind my mother, I glare at his stupid face with a smirk, and he rubs his fingertips together to further annoy me until penetrating eyes over his shoulder capture my attention. My chest constricts as I struggle to breathe. I don’t want to take my sight off of him, fearing if I do, he’ll disappear again.

“Brooke,” Mom whispers as she steps away from the microphone and the music starts back up, “that was unacceptable.”

“Okay.” I hurry offstage and straight in the direction of where Micah is standing. Once I maneuver through the crowd, I lose sight of him. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere, relaxed and perched against the wall. But when I get to the spot, he’s gone again.

“Son of a bitch.” I feel like I’m losing my mind, but I know I wasn’t dreaming him into existence. Where the fuck is he? Now he’s starting to piss me off, and I’m over the spectacle. Because the need to get to him is deep; it’s to the point where I feel like there’s a scream that needs to escape my chest and the only way it’ll ever get out is for me to claw my rib cage open.

I jump when fingers clasp my forearm, tugging me aside. “What was that about?” Mom asks, smiling at the people around her before she turns an agitated expression to me.

“I need a break. This dress is really tight.” I hurry away. Why do I feel like I’m constantly running from everyone and towards the one person I can’t reach?

Stepping outside, I heave in lungfuls of oxygen and peel my mask off. It was an excuse to get away, but this dress is really tight. I pull at the fabric, but it’s no use. I won’t get to breathe even after I take the gown off.

Studying the mask in my hand, I debate leaving it off before ultimately securing it back in place and forcing in one final gulp of air.

“The mask is slipping.”

The voice sends a biting sensation to my core. I spin toward him, praying he’s still there. “Micah.”

I want to run to him, close the distance between us and throw my arms around his neck and hang on tight before he vanishes again, but from his rigid stance, I’m guessing the feeling isn’t mutual.

“Are you all right? Where have you been?” I ramble off questions before I speak the words that have lingered in my mind for months. “I’m so sorry.”

He laughs. His posture slightly relaxing as he walks closer to me. “Not as sorry as I am.”

Then he walks past me. Slowly, calmly, and dismissively.

“What the hell? Where are you going? I know you’re mad at me, but please let me explain.” I follow behind him, skidding to a stop when he turns back to me.

“No need. You were desperate and used me. I know the drill. No hard feelings.”

“Sure seems like you have some hard feelings,” I state coolly. “Not to mention the Houdini act for so long. We were really worried about you. I was worried about you.”

He steps back to me, his face straight ahead as he looks down to me. He lowers his face to mine, so close that I can feel his breath floating over my lips. I want to close the distance until his words touch my skin. “Don’t. You’re dead to me, and you should regard me the same way. Meaningless and nonexistent. Just someone who occupied your past, has no place in the present, and won’t be a part of your future.”

With every word, the pain cuts a little deeper. “Please just let me explain where my head was, my intentions, my mindset. I didn’t want to hurt you or trick you. I didn’t want to be the Deceiver. It just happened that way, and I thought it was my best chance to win, which is what you were doing too. We both did what we had to with the intention of winning Mercy.”

Micah says, “Right, I wanted to win the game, and that’s what I set out to do. But I never had a chance. That’s what pisses me off. I never sabotaged your chances. I thought you had the same opportunity to win as I had. And I would’ve been happy for you.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You would not have been okay with anyone winning except you.”

“Guess we’ll never know.”

Taking a step towards him, I try to plead once more. “Please⁠—”

He takes a step back to counter, his voice rising with every word. “No. You played me. The only thing I want is for you to have a miserable life and stay the fuck away from me.”

I cower back at the rage beneath the surface. It’s the same I’ve seen on my father. Micah has never raised a hand to me, and I don’t believe he ever would, but the fear I feel is real.

He slowly moves towards me until his mouth is next to my ear. “You should be scared.” Then he turns and walks away. And I let him go. Because the guy who was in front of me, the hatred he holds for me, is not the one I wanted to speak to after all this time. Yeah, I knew he would be angry and hate me. But I never thought he’d want to truly scare me. If only I’d made a different decision or played the game differently—or not at all—he wouldn’t hate me.