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“You always let your emotions rule you. Breathe through them, Ezzy. You’re stronger than they are. You control them, they don’t control you.”
Her voice is so clear in my head it’s like she’s standing beside me. Tears sting my eyes and I wipe roughly at them, trying to force them to disappear. Trying to forceherto disappear.
When I get outside, I ram my fist into the side of the building. It’s brick and should hurt like fuck, but I can’t feel it.
I can’t feel a fucking thing.
All I feel is Elaine.
Rearing back, I slam my fist into it again, barely noticing when my knuckles split.
“Ezra!” Kennedy’s arms wrap around mine as she pulls me away from the wall. It’s then I realize the hot blood dripping from my hand. “What are you doing? Let me see your—fuck! Ez!” She grabs my hand and tilts it back and forth, inspecting it in the moonlight.
I stare blankly down at her, at my hand.
“Why would you do that?” she scolds. I pull my hand away and wipe the blood down the front of my shirt. Nothing feels broken. The skin is just busted open and things will be bruised for a while.
Nothing I haven’t felt before. Nothing I won’t feel again.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“Ez, wait.” She grabs my arm, but I yank it from her. “What’s wrong?”
“Let’s go,” I say again.
“Talk to me.” She grabs my cut and I stop. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. But I can’t fucking breathe through my emotions like Elaine always wanted me to. There are too many of them. “Please.” Kennedy’s voice is small, and when I turn around, she looks…different.
Afraid.
She looks afraid.
Of me.
It makes me want to fucking kill myself.
I want to kill myself for making her think she should fear me.
“I won’t hurt you,” I rasp. “I never would.”
“I know,” she mutters, then wipes roughly at her cheek. “I know you wouldn’t.” She laughs and looks away as she wipes at her face again.
“Kens,” I whisper, but she shakes her head.
“What’s wrong?” She looks up at me, her eyes shadowed.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “It’s been a long day.” She looks disappointed, but that’s all I can give her. I can’t outright ask her if she’s a club slut. And I don’t know if that’s entirely why I’m pissed.
I don’t really give a shit if she’s fucked a million men; I’m not exactly a fucking saint. I’ve fucked more people than I can count, so I can’t judge her for doing the same shit.
But maybe itisme.
Maybe she doesn’t want me.
Maybe it’s not my club or the fact that I’m not a Berserker. Maybe it’s just that I’m me and she just doesn’t fucking like me. Maybe her words last night were true. Maybe she really thinks I’m a fucking freak.
Freak.
Freak.
