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I rip my arm out of his hold and run up the stairs. As I clear the second landing and turn towards the third, I catch a look at his face. He hasn’t moved from where I left him, but his face is angled up to follow me. His mouth has flattened, his eyes are narrowed on me.
I don’t stop, running for the third floor. Once I’m in my apartment, I’ll be safe from him. The girls are home, he won’t risk them seeing him. As it is, I’m surprised he’s followed me this far.
I wonder if the blonde is somewhere waiting for him, wondering where he is. I hate her.
“Nera,” I hear him call angrily after me, a clear warning in the way he says my name.
I spin around on the landing of the third floor, suddenly overcome with anger.
“I’m single, Tristan, you don’t get to question what orwhoI’m doing.”
He climbs the last few steps slowly, the look in his eyes downright murderous. The air is charged with our collective anger, but his brings thunderous, ominous energy.
“Come again?”
The question is asked clinically, with each word delivered on the edge of a knife. I swallow and go to turn, but he grabs me and yanks me back.
“I’ll ask the question differently,” he says, and his voice terrifies me. It sounds on the edge of insanity. “You think we haven’t been exclusive?”
“That’s right.”
“You think you’resingle?”
“Yes.”
Tristan’s eyes close and a low growl emits from his throat. It grows until it erupts into a furious roar that shakes me to my core. He squeezes my forearm before releasing me like I burned him. He drops his head in his hands and runs them violently over his face.
Eyes cut to me when they come back into view and he takes a step towards me.
I stumble backwards down my hallway.
“Have you acted on that thinking?”
I swallow and his eyes drop to my throat before coming back to my face. When he speaks, his voice is softer in tone but the warning in his words rings with violence I can palpably feel.
“Save a life today, baby. Tell me you haven’t let anyone touch you since we’ve been together.”
Another knife to the heart, this time in the form of the endearment he has for me.
Baby.
He says it so possessively, his voice deep and claiming. I love when he calls me that. It feels like a loving caress coupled with a violent promise of ownership every time he says it.
I’m never going to hear him say it again. The realization pulls a sob from the depths of my chest.
I look away from him, blinking rapidly. Hoping to make them disappear as quickly as they appeared.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, voice shaking. “I told you we were done. You showing up here changes nothing. I don’t even understand why you came.”
The tears pool in my eyes and crest past my lower lid and down my face. It’s crazy how I didn’t cry for years and now I can’t seem to stop. It’s all connected to him, the good, the bad, the unbearably painful.
His face falls when he sees my tears and he reaches for me but I step out of his reach.
“For once, please listen to me and leave when I tell you to.”
Wiping the teardrops from my cheek, I turn and jog the rest of the way to my apartment door, happy to finally be able to put distance between us.
I have no such luck.
