have any idea this is what you’ve done to me?
His eyes are tracking one of those tears when I finally admit, “I think you’re weak.”
And God, it hurts to say that because he’s not weak for the abuse that happened, he’s not weak for surviving it, but he is weak for letting the man who raised him turn him into a cold, unfeeling monster.
It hurts so bad that I’m shaking when his beautiful amber eyes flick back to mine, when open mockery rolls across his expression.
With a tense grin, he dismisses my opinion.
“I’m weak? That’s hilarious, Em. Tell me more.”
“You are weak. Not physically, obviously. But emotionally? Sorry, but you have no strength there. You went through a lot of shit in your life, Ezra. What was done to you and Damon was awful. And you survived that. But at least Damon came out of it with the ability to care about people. You?”
I laugh, not like it’s funny, but more because it’s ridiculous that I have to state the obvious.
“From what I’ve seen of you lately, you completely lack the ability to give a damn about anything. That’s what makes you weak. You allowed William to mold you into an abusive asshole just like him.”
Oh, he does not like that, not if the way his eyes narrow on me has anything to say for it. Well, too fucking bad. It’s about time somebody tell him the truth.
Ezra manages to step closer, our bodies brushing together, his eyes trapping mine as he ducks his head to make sure he has every last bit of my attention.
“You want to know what I think?”
Not really. But I have a feeling he’s going to tell me anyway.
“I think you’re looking for any possible way to strike back at me for what I did. I think you got busted in whatever it is you’re trying to do, and rather than explaining yourself, you’re diverting the topic to bullshit,” he says, emphasizing that word with a snap to his voice that makes me flinch. “Only because you’ve been cornered. I may be a lot of things, killer. An ass? Yep, got that covered. A bully? Pretty much. A guy who sees through games like the one you’re playing and calls people out on them? You better fucking believe it. But what I am not is weak.”
I hit a nerve, it seems, one that is scraped raw and hurts any time someone touches it.
My eyes trap Ezra’s in return because I won’t let him intimidate me. Not anymore.
“Just the fact you can’t accept it and admit it makes you weak. We’ve all been through hell. Every last one of us. Just being born into our families is hell. But some of us haven’t bowed to the pressure of the crap on our shoulders. I have no choices in life. None! Yet I still walk with my head high and don’t need to hurt other people because I can’t handle the shit hand life has dealt me. I still care. I still love. I still treat people with the respect they deserve. And I respect myself enough to know when to walk away from a person who can’t find it within himself to treat me like I deserve.”
“Like me?” he asks, his head tilting slightly.
Another tear rolls down my cheek. But not for me.
For him.
For what’s been done to him.
For what he refuses to see.
“Yes, like you.”
He grins, but it isn’t the mockery in that expression that hurts. It’s the heat in his eyes, the fire that calls to mine.
It’s the same look he gets when he’s about to pin me against a wall and take what he wants.
The same look he gets when he fights.
The same look that has the ability to melt me in place and whisper to me until I submit.
Fuck, this man does things to me that shouldn’t be allowed. That I shouldn’t allow. But tell that to the heat between my thighs. To the way my skin becomes tight and everything feminine inside me comes to life. I luxuriate in his physical strength, in his prowess, in the feral masculinity in him that takes and takes and takes.
But while he makes my body sing, he crushes my heart and gnaws on my soul. He consumes me. Devours me. He leaves me bruised and broken, just like him.
I refuse to continue giving my heart to a person who doesn’t know how to care for his own.
The definition of insanity is to do the