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I huff with a sarcastic chuckle. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“Let me in.”
“No.” The word is shaky as it comes out, and I’m worried it’s revealing my wavering strength.
I can’t let him in. I can’t face him as he implies his life is so expendable because it’s not. Not to me.
“Let me in, or I’ll tear this fucking door down.” His voice is still collected, but I can hear the anger rising, threatening to pour out.
“Why? So you can be pissy about what I said? Because I’m not sorry, and I never will be. You can be angry all you want, but at this point, it seems I’m the only one who even values your life.”
“It isn’t that, Carmen.”
“Then what is it? You don’t need me to open the door to speak.”
“You’re crying.”
“And?”
“And I don’t like it. Open. The. Fucking. Door.”
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest and plant my heels on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. “And if you break down this door, you’ll be hurting me because I’m not moving.”
I’m waiting for his snarky reply, something full of douchiness to combat my statement, but it never comes. After a few beats, I hear the front door open, then slam. Instantly, I regret everything I said. Yeah, he pissed me off, but I didn’t want him to leave.
I jump to my feet and crack open the door. I see Tiny lying on the couch, but just as I suspected, there is no sign of Cyrus. I’m ready to go look for him, maybe try and reason with him again if it’ll make him come back, but the window next to his dresser shatters before I can.
Instinctively, I raise my arm to shield my eyes, so I never see him coming.
His arms wrap around me, then throw me onto the bed. “I told you to open the door.”
Once I see it’s Cyrus, the bubbling fear inside of me simmers down. “And I said no.”
He laughs. Deep, belly-shaking, manic fucking laughter pours from him, and it puts me on edge. He tosses me a pair of tennis shoes and shorts he’s holding in one hand, then speaks again. “Run.”
