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Absentmindedly, I run my sweaty palms down the front of the T-shirt I'm wearing. He drops his eyes to my torso and winks. "Looks a million times better on you than it does on me."
It takes me a moment to remember that I'm wearing his T-shirt. Immediately my fingers tug at the hem, wondering if I should take it off and offer it to him, even though it's the last thing I want to do right now. I didn’t realize how much it was a source of comfort until now.
"No. Keep it. Your neighbors will just get an eyeful of me when we go down to the car."
What’s he saying? "To the car?"
"Yes, you're not staying here. It's not safe."
"It's fine. I’m sure he won't be back." Lies.
"Who?"
I bite the inside my lip. I shouldn't have sounded like I knew who it would be. "I'm just saying, whoever it was, probably got whatever they came here to get."
"Oh? I thought you said that only a few things were missing."
Fuck, he was observant. Maybe him listening and hovering wasn't such a good thing after all.
"Well, I haven't looked closely. I did also say that."
"Yes, you did." He wants to say something else, but doesn't.
I force myself to straighten up. "I'm not going with you, Kylian."
"I'm not giving you a choice, Kiara."
I bite back a hiss. I don't take kindly to anyone telling me what to do, let alone him. "I wouldn't go with you if you begged me." I say the “dickhead” in my head.
"Good, because I have absolutely no fucking intention of doing so." He lifts a bag; it looks full of my clothes and toiletries from the bathroom. He wasn't looking for a shirt. He was packing me a fucking bag.
"Put. That. Back." The numbness and shakiness from coming home to see my door open is gone, and all that is left is fury. Fury at the violation of my home, and fury at Kylian acting like he has any say in my life. That right flew out the window an hour ago, when a woman walked into his apartment like she belonged there, and treated me like I didn't.
"You're going to need it when you move in with me. Or you can come without it and we can go buy whatever you need."
"That's hardly a choice,” I scoff.
"It's all the choice you're going to get.” His tone dares me to challenge him. Unfortunately for him, I’m up to a challenge right now.
"When did you become such a motherfucking bossy fuckwit?" I yell, the anger spewing from me in words that I've never used before.
He glares at me, his fist white-knuckled around the handle of the bag. "I get that you're angry right now. But there's no point in taking it out on me. I’m on your side. I’m here for you. And I'm not leaving without you, so the sooner you get with the program, the better it's going to be for the both of us. Let’s. Fucking. Go."
He has some nerve. Is this the kind of bullshit other women he’s been involved with tolerate? "I'm not moving in with you, and I’m not your girlfriend! Who the fuck do you think I am? Like I'm not embarrassed enough about what happened last night. I'd rather stay here and get killed than go back there with you!” His back stiffens along with the twitch in his jaw. But it’s not my problem if he doesn’t like what I’m saying. How does he think it feels experiencing it? So much for his promises. “How could you do this to me, Kylian? Again! Do you have any idea what it was like to feel like I was just some convenient fuck you'd brought home?"
He flings the bag to the ground and clears the almost ten feet between us in two steps, grabbing my wrist and pushing me up against the wall, knocking down the picture frame I've hung there. It crashes to the ground at our feet, not that either of us are looking at it, because he holds both of my hands over my head with one hand and the other is gripping around my throat.
His eyes, as I’ve come to know, change from icy cold to raging hot within a matter of seconds, and lock on mine, reflecting glaciers. "You're a little bratty today. Do you honestly think that I'm going to let anyone hurt you?"
"You hurt me," I hiss, struggling against his hand that feels like a cable tie around my wrists.
"No, Kiara. You hurt yourself. Who do you think was at my apartment this morning? Who do you think that was?" The way his voice remains calm while I’m feeling like every emotion races around my mind as though they’re trying to come in first place, makes me so angry.
"I don't care, Kylian. Who fucking cares who she was?"
He studies me, his eyes scanning my face and the way my body tries to fight him. "You do care, that's why you ran out of there without telling me. You do care. Do you think I'm with her?"
"Are you even listening? I said, I don't fucking care."
