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Tossing up my hands, I step away from him. “That’s not my problem.”
It just sucks he’s right not to believe me. I clench my eyes shut and face another direction because I can’t look at him and keep lying.
This entire thing was supposed to be over by now. I waspromisedit would be done. But complications have only dragged it out, and I’m stuck in this until it ends.
And I can’t say a word.
Notoneword, or all of it will be for nothing.
“And this is exactly why I did what I did. You only have yourself to blame.”
God, he is such a dick.
I spin to face him again, not giving a damn when he steps close and ducks his head. He wants to be everything I see? Fine! Because I have no problem narrowing my stare on him and saying what needs to be said.
“Is this your way of apologizing, Ezra? Because you might as well not bother. You suck at it. Just like you suck at being an even remotely decent fucking person. The last five weeks, all you’ve done is abuse me. Maybe not physically, but mentally and emotionally? Yeah, you’ve done that. Over and over and over, you’ve taken every stab you can while giving me mixed signals about how you feel. So you know what I think?”
Ezra weaves in place. It’s the weirdest thing, and I can’t believe I’m just now noticing it.
It’s like he can’t stay still, the energy inside him too much to hold onto, a fight constantly in his head that he can’t help but step up to.
His behavior is aggravating as hell because he mocks you while staring you down, challenges you while laughing at you. This son of a bitch thinks he has me cornered when the truth is I’m a hell of lot stronger than him.
And I’m about to tell him why.
Leaning in, he whispers. “What do you think, killer? Try being honest for once.”
Tears well at the backs of my eyes, and I hate it. Hate crying in front of him. Hate feeling this way. But I’m not crying for myself, I’m crying for him.
You’re so pretty when you cry...
I wonder if he would still think that if he knew those tears were for every time he was dragged off for one of those weekends, for every time he was forced to watch something that hurt him, for every punch he suffered, for every single time he was made to suffer the abuse of a father who never loved him.
I wonder how fuckingprettyhe’d find my tears then.
They brim at my eyes, hot and salty, the sting of them forcing me to blink.
How pretty am I now, Ezra?
Do you have any ideathisis what you’ve done to me?
His eyes are tracking one of those tears when I finally admit, “I think you’re weak.”
And God, it hurts to say that because he’s not weak for the abuse that happened, he’s not weak for surviving it, but he is weak for letting the man who raised him turn him into a cold, unfeeling monster.
It hurts so bad that I’m shaking when his beautiful amber eyes flick back to mine, when open mockery rolls across his expression.
With a tense grin, he dismisses my opinion.
“I’m weak? That’s hilarious, Em. Tell me more.”
“You are weak. Not physically, obviously. But emotionally? Sorry, but you have no strength there. You went through a lot of shit in your life, Ezra. What was done to you and Damon was awful. And you survived that. But at least Damon came out of it with the ability to care about people. You?”
I laugh, not like it’s funny, but more because it’s ridiculous that I have to state the obvious.
“From what I’ve seen of you lately, you completely lack the ability to give a damn about anything. That’s what makes you weak. You allowed William to mold you into an abusive asshole just like him.”
Oh, he does not like that, not if the way his eyes narrow on me has anything to say for it. Well, too fucking bad. It’s about time somebody tell him the truth.