Page 35 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Brice

S he’s breathless after her long monologue. She’s also the darkest red I’ve ever seen on her, and I’m waiting for the satisfaction to kick in, but it never does.

Instead, I feel like the asshole she keeps calling me.

I kept pushing and pushing and I think I hit the point where she couldn’t contain it. I hit her breaking point.

I want to say I wasn’t that annoying, but I was, wasn’t I?

My selfish need to feel something came with a price. Except I’m not the one paying it.

She is.

Without a single look at me, she goes back to eating her pasta.

I haven’t touched mine. I haven’t even moved from the doorframe.

I don’t think I’ll eat, though.

Because I made this.

I made that woman who looked so proud retract into herself after yelling her truth at me.

But that’s not the worst.

I think the worst in all of this is that she threw all of this in my face and even if it pissed her off to no end; she went back to eating as if nothing happened, as if she didn’t just shock me to my core.

Because no one ever wanted to hear her truth, anyway.

My heart breaks a little for her and after feeling absolutely nothing for weeks, it tears through all my defenses like wind through leaves during autumn.

I feel annihilated by what she just said. But more than that, I have no idea how she keeps holding on after what she just told me.

She’s so calm and quiet. Eating like this is normal, like it was merely a grain of sand in her eyes and it’s all over already.

I’ve been an ass.

I’m still an ass if I’m completely honest with myself.

But have you really been honest with yourself lately?

Shut up, little voice.

I’m not sure anymore if I should leave her be or just show her how the world could be if she wasn’t the one taking care of it, how the world would be if, for once, someone were to take care of her.

But I don’t think she’s ready to hear about any of that.

And more importantly, why would she believe the words of the old man who tormented her and made her snap?

No, I can’t tell her … yet.

I’ll show her instead.

I’ll show her every day until the day she leaves the castle.

Because everyone deserves to be heard, but more importantly, everyone deserves to be seen.

I finally decide to move from my standing point and sit next to her at the table.

I grab my glass and the bottle of red wine and serve us both before I take a sip of it and put the glass back on the table.

The silence is tense, and I hate it, but we deserve that wine.

Her for standing up to me and me because, well … if my heart managed to break for her, it’s a new beginning.

One I wasn’t really expecting.

And it’s all because of Florentine. It’s all thanks to her.

Even if she’ll probably never know.

“You don’t ever have to hide your truth around me, Florentine,” I tell her and for once I make the effort to use her name instead of the nickname she seems to hate.

“I can take it. I will take it. I want it. And if I have to make you mad for you to give it to me, I’ll keep pissing you off.

I’ll burrow under your skin. I’ll make you hate me more than you already do, but you’ll never have to hide who you are and what you feel around me. ”

And then I take another sip of my wine.

This is just the beginning, and there is one thing I know; she gave me back my emotions—be it inadvertently or not—I’m gonna help her reclaim hers.

I wanted her rage to be mine.

Maybe you still want that, though.

But now? I want the full panel. I want the full range. I’ll take all her emotions.

And I’ll make sure she finally believes they’re valid.