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“Either kill me or move,” she hisses. “Those are the only things you’re good for.”
He takes an audible breath, the only sign of his agony, and then steps aside.
“Good little dog,” she sneers before storming out, leaving us staring after her.
“So this is what pain is,” Dal whispers, watching her. “I don’t fucking like it. I don’t like it one bit. How do you survive it?”
I don’t know.
I really don’t.
FIFTY-SIX
“Dal.” Raff races after me, and when I feel him reach for me, I duck under his touch and spin, slamming my hand out. It hits his chest, and he flies back with a grunt, his ass landing on the street. He doesn’t even try to fight back. He just sits there, looking up at me with sadness in his eyes.
The moon shines down on the empty street, the music from the party pumping to us even here, rumbling under my feet, and somewhere in there is my girl.
My life.
My very fucking reason for breathing . . .
She looked at me like everyone else did, like the shroud had finally been pulled back and she saw the beast inside. Her lip curled in disgust, and I saw the pain in her gaze, but all it did was rip me apart.
My body has been used, abused, and tortured and I have stood against it all, but one look, one sentence from her, and I’m dead.
I’d take war over this any day.
If this is living, I don’t want it.
It hurts too fucking much.
“Dal,” he repeats. “Just stay calm.”
He thinks I’m going off the rails, ready to kill everyone, but he’s so very wrong. There is no anger, only a pain I can’t understand nor survive. It’s too much, and the emotions are too strong.
“I can’t live without her,” I say, suddenly understanding. “She calms the storm, and without her . . .” I stumble away from Raff. “I can never go back. I’m not him, not the killer, and now I’m not the man who loved her either. I’m . . . nothing.”
“Dal,” he repeats slowly, getting to his feet.
I see the others racing toward us. I’d left swiftly, unable to look at her without feeling everything she did—disgust, rage, and hurt.
I did this. I knew the pain she felt, the loneliness, and the scars she bore, and I still let us lie to her.
I begin to spiral back into that dark place where nothing hurts, and I feel nothing but hopelessness. It seems easier just to give up. Her life would be better without me. She wouldn’t hurt anymore. Even my brothers would be better off without me. They wouldn’t have to constantly worry about what I’m doing or monitor my actions and words and shelter me.
No, this world would be a much better place without a beast like me.
Isn’t that what she meant?
“I won’t hurt her anymore. I won’t,” I state calmly. “My mother was right. This world would be better off if I were never born.” I step back and into the path of the truck I saw coming out of my peripherals. Its brights splash across me, and for a moment, I’m cleansed of all the pain. I’m free.
A honk splits the air, and as I close my eyes to welcome oblivion, a hand grabs mine.
One touch holds me to this world and all that darkness parts, letting me see how foolish I’m being.
I was a fool. I can’t give up, not now, but it’s too late.
I feel the air as the truck swerves and hear the squeal of its tires, and I know it’s going to hit me. My eyes open and meet wide, terrified ones I’ve gazed into a million times—eyes that made me understand love.
