Page 100 of Burn

“I wanted to protect you,” I lie.

“You installed a camera in my fucking bedroom. What were you protecting me from, Adrian?”

“I didn’t watch them.”

Her laughter is sharp and cruel. “Don’t start lying to me now.”

“I’m…”

“You watched me, and now you’ve robbed me of ever feeling safe in my home.” Her voice cracks, but she maintains eye contact.

“Let me explain.” I move, reaching one hand toward her. She flinches and steps back.

No.

“No, Adrian.” Her strong, even voice is back. “No more explanations.” Her face is expressionless, and it’s only the solitary tear that slips down her cheek that betrays her. “I’m leaving.”

My eyes dart around the apartment, to the cat carrier by the door, to her purse and backpack next to it. She’s leaving with exactly what she came in with.

And I fucking panic.

She turns, heading for the door, and I see the end of everything. A sick, clawing desperation sets in, and when she lifts the backpack onto her shoulder, I lose all sense of logic. My fear cracks me wide open, and before I can reason with myself, I’m following after her.

Myhand wraps around her wrist, and I spin her to face me, pushing her back into the door. “Don’t,” I say. It’s not a plea. It’s a cold demand.

“Get your fucking hand off of me, Adrian.”

Instead of obliging, I grab her other wrist, effectively pinning her between me and the wall.

“Let. Me. Go.”

Let her go.

My brain screams at me, but my heart’s louder, and I can’t.

I can’t let her go.

Not like this.

Because if I let her go now, she’ll never come back.

Lex

His chest heaves against mine, and I can feel his racing heart against the areas where our bodies are connected. His eyes are wild, so much more than I’ve ever seen them. More than the night of the fire. More than the night of the wedding. This isn’t anger, it’s something desperate. I’m not even sure he’s seeing me anymore.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my own heart, and focus on my tone when I repeat, “Let me go, Adrian.”

He doesn’t. His jaw ticks, and I think he’ll step back when one hand releases my wrist, but it moves to his chest, rubbing frantic circles into the flesh above his heart. I’ve seen him do this before; when he’s spiraling, he claws at his chest like there’s something trapped inside that’s trying to escape.

After a minute, he presses forward, and his weight crushes me into the wall. The door frame digs painfully into my back, and I wince. “Adrian,” I struggle to speak. “You’re hurting me. I can’t breathe.”

His eyes drop to my mouth as I speak, and behind the wildness in his stare, there’s hunger and need. Not want, but genuine need, laced with fear. It reminds me of someone drowning, desperately clawing for the surface. Not that I’ve ever seen someone drown, but it’s how I would imagine them looking, fighting for oxygen.

“You can’t,” he breathes. His voice is raw and rough. “I can’t let you out that door.”

Oh, God.

My heart stutters into a gallop.