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Fucking me to do so was only the cherry on top.
For him, at least.
It’s obvious Damon is out there blowing off steam, but I’m not willing to go inside just yet. I don’t want to face Gabriel after his bullshit comment this morning, and I sure as hell don’t want to see Ezra.
It’s also for the best that I avoid Ivy because once she gets a look at me, she’ll hold me down and demand answers.
Fuck.
I don’t want to stay on the front porch since I can’t see the trailhead from it, so I round the house and head up to the raised balcony.
Leaning against the railing, I watch the branches of the trees sway with the soft wind, the rustle of leaves a soothing white noise that helps calm me down.
Unfortunately, the peaceful moment is short lived when one of the French doors behind me opens and Ezra steps out.
A vein of rage unfurls inside me, but worse than that is my body still wants this man whenever he’s near.
Regardless of what he’s done to me, and despite all our problems, I still can’t help to feel a flutter in my stomach and the squeeze of my heart.
Why does love have to be so blind and so damn stupid? We should be able to turn it off like a tap. Especially when the person you love has done nothing but hurt you.
Yet it’s there, the love never-ending, the need to touch him so damn strong that I have to curl my fingers into my palm and savor the way my nails cut crescent marks into my skin to keep from reaching out.
“Can we talk?”
“I don’t know, Ezra. Can you talk without insulting me or setting me up? Or are you out here looking to cause more damage? Why not just snap my neck and bury me if you want to get rid off me so badly?”
Mature, I know. But I’m so irate with him that I can’t bring myself to be civil. I don’t even bother turning to look at him, which is probably safer.
I can’t look at him without getting confused, my memories of who he was in high school warring with the cold and cruel man he’s become.
Ezra doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he blows out a heavy breath and steps up to stand beside me.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserve a lot worse than that.”
“Would you like to hit me again?”
I spin to face him. “I never wanted to hit you to begin with. You’ve been hit enough in your life. And just the fact you pushed me to that point is fucked up. Then again, everything is fucked up with you lately, so I’m not surprised.”
My palm still stings from slapping him, but worse than that is the scar on my heart for being just another person who hurt him.
No. That slap won’t bruise him, it won’t do more than cause the red mark I clearly see on his cheek now, but I’ve kissed too many of his injuries and spent far too many hours willing them to heal to forgive myself for marking him myself, even if it’s only temporary.
Even if he deserved it.
The only thing Ezra has known is violence, and I never wanted to add to it.
His jaw clenches at what I said, his amber stare shooting out over the distance.
“I’m not sorry for what I did, Em, but I am sorry for how I did it.”
With a shake of my head, I grit my teeth as well.
“Why? Because you’re done with me? It would have been a hell of a lot easier to tell me that without fucking me at the same time. Literally and figuratively.”
“I have to be done with you,” he murmurs as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck.
