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They think I’m made of glass.
But I needed to purge the fucking pain out of my system.
“Tell me?” She pushes my chest and I take a step back.
“Because I don’t fucking lie. I warned you!” I snap.
She flinches like I’ve physically struck her.
And the rage drains out of me just as fast as it came.
And suddenly I cannot breathe around the look on her face.
FIFTY
Elara
“If I find a single wound on your body, I will have ten folds of them on mine.”
I blink at him, disbelief flooding through me so fast it leaves me light-headed.
Anger follows right behind it, sharp and burning beneath my skin as I stand there helpless, trying to understand how he could do something so reckless to himself.
“You did this to yourself?” My finger lifts towards his shoulder accusingly, but his silence only makes my temper flare hotter.
“Have you lost your mind?” I demand again, scrambling to put my clothes back on while he turns away and calmly switches the stove on like this conversation isn’t ripping me apart.
“Sergei, I’m talking to you.” Nothing.
“You’re acting like a fucking child.” My hands fly up in frustration before I stalk towards him instead.
My fingers touching the rough, jagged skin, still raw and healing, and I gulp.
“How…” My voice cracks embarrassingly. “How are you any better than me?” I whisper, swallowing back tears as his muscles pull taut beneath my touch.
“If you hurt, I should hurt more.” He shrugs casually despite the heaviness in his voice.
“I fought so hard to stay alive.” Tears blur my vision. My chest caves around the words. I snap, shoving his shoulders hard as rage finally spills over. “Don’t make me watch you do the exact same thing I’m trying to stop doing to myself.”
He barely reacts to the shove, only setting the spatula down with infuriating calm before moving around the kitchen like I’m not even here.
I stand frozen for a second, my hands trembling at my sides hard enough for my nails to bite crescents into my palms.
“Sergei.” I try again. Nothing.
He opens the fridge, grabs the carton of milk, and starts making coffee with mechanical precision.
My chest tightens painfully when I notice him unscrewing the sugar jar—because he doesn’t take sugar in his coffee.
“Sergei?” My voice cracks this time.
Still nothing.
“Save it.” I speak more firmly now, and his movements finally pause for half a second. “I’m not drinking it.” I turn away before he can say anything and head towards the stairs, my heartbeat pounding violently in my ears.
“I’m going home.” I shout back.
“This is home.” He yells after me instantly.
