Why I take the scraps he gives me, but maybe it’s because I’ve torn him apart, too.
Maybe it’s because I know I don’t deserve anything more than what I walked in on.
“She feel good?” I throw the question out with indifference, even though the pain is eating me alive.
His eyes narrow into beautiful blue slits and he leans back against the door, his palms flat against the glass behind him. “You really wanna know?” He jerks his chin, to the door of our bedroom. “Where were you? Who were you fucking, baby girl?” His eyes flit to my throat, then back to my face, and I see that beautiful vein in his neck pulsing.
I shake my head. “Answer my fucking question.”
He scoffs, knocking his head back against the glass as he looks up at the ceiling. “You think I’m going to let you walk away again?”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. “I didn’t ask for your goddamn permission. I asked if it felt good. Fucking her?”
He dips his chin, his gaze leveling mine, a dimple in his pale face flashing as he smiles at me. “All pussy feels good.”
I roll my eyes, standing and cocking my head, trying to calm my racing pulse. There’re a few feet between us, but if we get any closer, this will turn dangerous. “All dick does too.” I shrug. “Especially Jeremiah’s. I think he’s about the same size as you, maybe a little thicker.” I throw up my hands, turn to go as his expression turns murderous.
For a beat, he lets me walk away. Three steps, and I think I’ll have to do it because he’s waiting to call my bluff. Three steps, and I’m passing our bed, my mind spinning. I guess I’ll go to Mav’s room. Maybe I’ll find Ophelia and actually fucking kill her.
“Lilith,” he finally calls, his voice hoarse. Broken.
I still, my back to him, my chest rising and falling rapidly. Don’t turn around.
“Come back,” he finally whispers, and my chest cracks with those words. “Come back and fix me. Fix us. Fix this.”
Now he wants to fix shit.
I bite my lip, pressure building again behind my eyes. I hate crying, and I’ve cried so much for this boy. For the future I didn’t ask for. A legacy I never wanted to be a part of.
I swallow down all of that, because all I can think about is him fucking O, his veiny hand wrapped around her breast.
Jealousy claws at me, and I try to reason with myself. I try to tell myself that I deserve it. That I’ve done worse.
That I obliterated his trust when I left, and I made it worse by sleeping with the one man he may never forgive me for.
I can’t reason with myself. The thing about logic is that it’s hard to find in the face of strong emotions, especially when you’re drowning in them. And right now, I’m well under water.
I spin around, and before I can think through it, I’m running at him, my palms held out as they collide with his chest, knocking him back against the glass door, his head hitting it with a thud.
I’m hitting him, every inch I can find, all along his torso, his chest, his fucking face. “How long did you fucking wait?” I scream at him. “How long did you fucking wait, Lucifer?” My chest is heaving, my palms burning as I slap him, and I curl my fingers into fists, punching him instead. Along his stomach, his arms.
He just stands there, his hands by his side, taking it.
“Did you fuck her as soon as I left? When I was trying to save your baby’s fucking life?” My voice breaks, tears streaming down my cheeks, and I don’t even know where I’m hitting him anymore. All I know is it feels good for my fist to collide with his flesh. It feels good to take out all of this pain on someone who deserves it.
It’s not Ophelia.
She’s not the fucking problem.
It’s him.
It’s us.
My hands are shaky and I’m breathing hard. I take a small step back, catching my breath, seeing the red marks on his pale skin.
But I’m not done.
He opens his mouth to speak and I lift my hand, slap him across the face. His head spins, and for a moment, he just stares at the wall, away from me.
I still have my hand raised, I’m still panting, rage pushing through me in hot waves. Rage, jealousy, grief.