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One day I set fire to everything I thought I was and began to learn who I was.
~ jm storm
Do you see that guy on the bed with the bottle of Fireball in his hand? The afternoon sun filtering in through his bedroom windows? The light ends there. It doesn’t reflect or brighten the black walls, nor does it provide any relief for the situation in that room.
That guy, look at him with his hair all over the place, bloodshot eyes, and staring at the timid girl in front of him. He’s losing it. He’s holding on by a thread, praying he doesn’t go completely over the edge because he knows once he’s there, there is absolutely no going back.
That guy? I fucking hate him. Throw away all the freestyle X-Fighter championships, the gold medals, the motocross championships, and what is he left with aside from a room full of trophies? Absolutely nothing. I despise him more than you will ever understand for reasons even I don’t know. And maybe for reasons you will soon begin to find out.
Now, you’ve heard of rock bottom, right? C’mon. We’ve all heard of it, and most have been there a time or two. That guy, the one trying to burn a hole in the girl with his stare, he’s there. He’s living in that hell because he can’t possibly get past this kind of betrayal.
“Were you here on Friday?”
She stares at me and it’s like the air is sucked from my lungs. “Yeah, why?”
“And what did you do while you were here?”
Look at her face. She knows exactly where I’m going with this one. She should. When you’re caught in a lie, your emotions are all over your face before your lips give them away. Aside from me. You will never know when I’ve told you a lie. “Roan.” My name’s a sigh, unamused with my interrogation. “What are you doing?”
“It’s just a question.” My eyes drop to my hands. They’re shaking. I never shake. I’m strong, steady, yet extremely unpredictable. I usually know exactly what my reaction is going to be. It’s others who are hardly privy to that information until I’m ready to show my cards. “I wanna know what you did while you were here.”
“Jesus.” Her lashes flutter closed. Maybe she’s contemplating a lie, or how to deliver a truth calmly so I don’t react to it. Maybe both. What I do know is that maybe after all this time, I don’t know this girl at all. “I did the same shit I always do. Same thing that happens at every Sawyer party. Drink and pass out.”
There it is. The betrayal eats at me, takes my words and makes them venom. So I ask another question. “And where’d you end up?”
Her cheeks flush and she tucks loose strands of her hair behind her ears. With a sigh, her tormented eyes land on my bed. Same one she’s spent countless nights sneaking into. “I went home.”
I smile. It’s forced, fake, and fades easily like her promises. “That’s not what I heard.”
“I don’t know what it is you want me to say.”
I keep the fake smile. “I think you should just tell me the fucking truth.”
Tears flood her eyes but no words follow. Look at her face. Her stare moves to mine and they tear at my chest. I hate that she makes me feel this way. I hate that she’s ingrained in every part of my soul, even the parts that overwhelm and consume.
“Say it,” I growl. I already know what happened, but I need her to say it. “You owe me that much.”
In her fragile state, she swallows and buries her face in her hands, her words mumbled. “I… slept with someone.”
My heart sinks. I let out a caustic laugh. “I already know that.” My jaw clenches, my shoulders slumping forward. I think about her with someone other than me. Someone touching in her in the ways I’ve resisted. I can’t stomach it.Hisface comes to mind. “I want you to say his name.”
“Why?”
“Say it!” I scream back at her.
She flinches at the tone of my words. “Tiller.”
It’s a real fuck you. One I can’t swallow. It’s as if the wind is knocked out of me. The anger builds inside me, pushing me to the edges of sanity. When she says his name, I see black. Not red, black. Black is far more dangerous because it destroys your ability to see anything. It blinds you. It’s the color when you reach the end and there’s no turning back.
Carefully, I draw in a deep breath, and it feels like I’ve been dying to take that breath since I met her. I don’t want to see her like this, touched by another, but I knowwhyshe did it and I want to kill him. Not her, though I don’t doubt for one second it was her idea, but he went along with it.
How could she?
How couldhe?
What happens when a man’s pushed too far? By nature, they become destructive.
How do men portray panic? They lose their shit. Most scream, plead, and panic.