Page 80 of Give In

“But you’d be okay with me starving? Or dropping out because I can’t afford tuition and supplies? While I’m catering my life to what you find right and wrong, would it be more to your liking if I moved back into my previous cheaper apartment? If you think the one I’m in now is bad, you should’ve seen the others.” I shuddered, and not for effect. “Scholarships and financial aid only go so far. I don’t have a safety net. I don’t have a backup plan. No one is swooping in to save me if my car breaks down or I get sick or my rent increases. I can’t just call Mommy and Daddy to ask for extra spending money since my parents are…” I caught myself before I said too much, instead finishing with a half-lie, “dead.”

To me, at least.

My words hit their target. Damien’s intensity didn’t decrease, but it was no longer edged with anger. Well, if it was, it wasn’t directed at me. His expression softened, and he opened his mouth, but it was my turn to talk over him.

All my frustration.

My pain.

My anger—at Damien, my parents, and myself.

My disgust—again, at all of us.

My fear, lust, darkness, andwrongness.

It all pushed up my knotted stomach and tight chest to burn like fire on the tip of my tongue. It had nowhere to go but out. Not as an exploding bomb or an erupting volcano, but as a supernova. One demanding I lash out until everything was destroyed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tailor my entire life around you. I’m sorry I couldn’t see into the future to know that after you were done ignoring me and making my life hell, you’d have demands about how I lived said life. Most of all, I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I give a damn about your opinion. We’re not lovers, which is good because I have no desire to be spanked or bossed around or whatever other fucked-up shit you’re into. We’re not friends. We’re not even teacher and student because you’re a shitty professor. As far as I’m concerned, we’renothing. I’m a dancer and you’re just another customer. If you don’t want to see me dance, stay the hell home and leave me alone!”

As soon as the words were out, I wanted to inhale them back. I wanted to crumble under the weight of my fuck-upped-ness. I wanted to cry or fight or fuck. My pent-up emotions had tasted like fire on my tongue, but the purge of them was bitter. Foul. Poisonous and acrid, making me grimace.

Because most of what I’d shouted had been lies. Not about how unfair he’d been—that shit was fact. But rather my feelings about him. Us.

And speaking a lie out loud meant there was no hiding from it. No ignoring it. It had to be acknowledged for the mistruth it was for the liar to consciously carry on the deceit.

Damien’s dark promises and seductive threats had tried to break into the locked away part of my psyche. He may have splintered the door, but he hadn’t been able to pry it open.

By acknowledging my hidden desires,I’dbeen the one to rip the cover off my mind’s mirror, forcing myself to face it.

Which meant I was left to lie about the darkness I saw reflecting back at me.

I’d been lying for so long, it came as natural as breathing. Only right then, as I met Damien’s cold stare, my breathing wasn’t natural. It was rapid and ragged, my chest rising and falling with the effort. And the lies wouldn’t come.

“Strip.”

I jolted at Damien’s calm order. “What?”

“What’s the big deal? Do what you always do and pretend I’m just another faceless schmuck. Another tip. Another nobody. Like you said, I’m one of them. So strip.”

I’d never been prone to violence, but in that moment, I wanted to slap him. I wanted to smack the cold, harshness out of his tone and off his expression. I also wanted to tackle him back on the bed and kiss him until neither of us could breathe. Maybe it was like the old romance movies where the heroine slapped the hero and then they kissed passionately.

But I knew one thing for sure.

Damien was no hero.

His face twisted in a mocking sneer as he shifted and pulled his wallet out. Grabbing a fistful of cash, he tossed it.

None of it hit me as it fluttered softly to the ground, but the emotional hit was so physical, the bills might as well have sliced my flesh.

Ithurt.

Because those weremywords he’d attacked with. I’d said them first, launching them at him like missiles meant to obliterate whatever the pull was between us.

Leaning over to rest his elbows back on his knees, his emotionless expression made goosebumps spread across my body. “Put your damn mask on, Eden, and dance.”

As his blank gaze—no heat or fire or storm—stared at me expectantly, I had a choice to make.

I could walk out. Just turn and go, severing everything just like I’d always claimed to want.