of it. You sometimes wish you were never born as your parents’ kid, because maybe that would make you feel wholesome like other children with non-separated parents. You feel guilty for dropping your friendship with Kimberly, but you act like a bitch to her because it’s your only defence mechanism to keep her away. You don’t want her to see the ugly parts of you or how empty you actually feel inside. You’re flawed and you hate those flaws, so you use the attitude and the looks to make everyone believe you’re a perfect human they wish they could turn into.
"You keep Summer and Veronica as friends, because they’re disposable and so you won’t feel the pain you still do whenever you look in Kimberly’s direction and realise she also left you behind and chose Elsa over you. Truth is, you’re jealous of Elsa and it’s not because of Aiden. You’re jealous not only that she took Kim, but also that Ronan and Xander are gravitating towards her and leaving your snobbishness behind. But you can’t tell them to spend time with you, because that will make you seem weak, and you loathe that more than losing all your friends who actually matter. You let guys get close, but never close enough to see who you are, what you are. You don’t allow anyone to see your makeup-free face, because you’re self-conscious about the freckles on your nose. You’re also self-conscious about listening to rock music, and you do it in secret because you’re worried that if Cynthia or anyone finds out you do listen to it, they’ll think you don’t deserve to play the piano. You —”
“Shut up!” My voice shakes, then breaks, coming out as haunted as I feel.
It’s like I’ve listened to a distorted retelling of my life. As if someone dipped their fingers inside me and wrenched out a part of me I’ve always kept under lock and key.
No. Not someone.
Cole.
He once again took my choice and learnt things he has no business learning.
Considering how observant he is, I figured he knew a few things about me, but never in my wildest dreams would I have thought he delved too deep.
“Why?” he speaks casually, as if he didn’t just flip my world upside down. “You don’t like listening to the truth being thrown in your face? I can tell you about —”
“Stop it.” I meant it as an order, but it comes out as a plea. “Just stop, Cole.”
He drapes a hand around my nape and pulls me over so our foreheads connect. I gulp in harsh intakes of air, breathing him in with every inhale.
“Here’s the thing, Butterfly, I can’t stop.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my chaos, and I can’t survive without chaos.”
“I’m chaos?”
“The worst of all. The most beautiful of all. And you know what? You might as well be the deadliest.”
My breathing chops off. “Are you ever going to let me go?”
“Are you?”
No.
The word stabs in my head as real and as gut-wrenching as that nightmare. There’s no need to think about it. I know for a fact that if I saw any girl near him again, I’d plot her fall and break her to unrecognisable pieces.
But I don’t say that, because truth is, I knew Cole lived for chaos. Under his calm exterior, it’s the only thing he plans for. The only thing he lives day-to-day for.
He always, without doubt, loses interest once the chaos turns boring.
That’s the same case for me. If I stop bringing chaos into his life and disrupting its flow in some way, he’ll drop me as if I never existed.
That thought pierces my heart more than the manifestation of my subconscious in that nightmare.
If I even remotely want to have him, then I need to be his chaos.
His only chaos.
And for that, I’m letting Papa, Mum, and even Helen down. I’m free-falling to sin and I have no way to stop it.
“That’s what I thought.” He grins, drops a kiss on my nose, and pulls me to him again.
He lies on his back and hugs me to the crook of his body so that I’m half-laying over him.
“Cole? What are you doing?”
His eyes are already closed. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m sleeping.”
“You can’t sleep here,” I whisper-hiss, but when I try to get up, he pins me to his side.
“Sure I can, Butterfly. In fact, I don’t like my bed. I’m going to use yours every night.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch and see.”
“Papa or Helen could come