Page 28 of The Casualty of Us (Philosophies of the Heart Duet #1)

Chapter Fifteen

I drop my backpack to the ground and plop down beside Holden at our table in the library with a scowl on my face.

Staring straight ahead and letting my eyes slide over the titles of the books lining the stacks there.

I replay my own stupid, stupid words from debate in my head, with my stomach dropping further each time they make another pass.

At least I managed to ignore him for the rest of class. That’s something, I guess.

But the wrecking ball is more clever than I gave him credit for originally, or maybe not clever, but…he studied me. All week. Calculated.

Each time that stupid hazel gaze landed on me, he was playing his own game. Assessing his opponent. Waiting till he got me alone. Planning the right moment and topic that I couldn’t resist going toe-to-toe with him on.

That he knew would rile me up just enough for some kind of possible slip.

It all just pisses me the fuck off.

But there’s something else there too. Something in between the drops of my stomach and the sharpening of that ache. Something more that’s pushing me all on its own. Pushing me toward the fade one second and then anger the next…trying to exert its will against mine. I don’t know. Something like—

“Sorry, I just needed to…” The scratch of Holden’s pen comes to a stop next to me, and then a second later, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure actually.” My brows fall with the admission. “It’s logical in a way, I guess…but it’s not. It’s like he’s—”

“Right here.” I jolt in my chair at the rasp, whipping my gaze up to see a pair of wearily amused eyes staring down at me. “He’s right here.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear.

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Sure you weren’t.” He shakes his head with his mouth making a little tsking sound that has the scowl sinking deeper on my face. “Of course not.”

Holden clears his throat next to me, greeting the stupid— “Hayes.”

“Holden.” Hayes nods back, eyes still locked with mine.

Then he just stands there, staring at me, any lingering amusement slowly draining from his gaze to leave that calculation whirling. A resolve flows over his face that has me pursing my lips before looking pointedly away and settling in to ignore him for the two seconds he’ll probably be here.

Since I’ve already opened my mouth enough for the day.

I reach down to open my backpack and pull my chem book from it before dropping the heavy text on the table while trying to keep my frustration somewhat contained.

Not even looking up when he starts to move.

Tracking him out of the corner of my eye as he makes his way to the spot across from mine and holding my breath as he pulls out the chair loudly, again, and drops his backpack onto the table.

No.

No. No. No. I refuse to—I can’t deal—I’m not ready—nope.

I lift my gaze back up, watching from under my lashes as he sits down and starts to shrug out of his jacket. “What are you doing?”

“Uh.” He pauses, making a dramatic show of looking around before turning back to me innocently. “I can put it back on if it makes you feel uncomfort—”

“Don’t try to be cute,” I snap, leaning back and tossing out a hand at him. “What are you doing here? Now? You’re supposed to be at football.”

“I’m off the team the rest of the year for drinking on school grounds.” He swallows, gaze darting down like it’s trying to escape mine suddenly. “Thought Ollie would’ve told you.”

I blink at him, digesting the news as he finishes shrugging out of his jacket. And despite that it unsettles me, the additional information that I’ve voluntarily insulated myself from in a way…I still find that I don’t feel too bad for him.

So when he lays his jacket on the table and looks back up at me before crossing his arms like he isn’t going anywhere, I just dip my head to the side and let my eyes roll over him.

“Sucks.” I sigh with faux sympathy before ordering. “Now go away.”

He lifts a hand with a short laugh, pointing between us. “Oh, are we not pretending anymore?” He nods. “That’s a relief. So how does this work? Do we come up with a custody schedule for all public places? Or—”

I slam my book shut and start to stand. “Fine, I’ll leave—”

“Sit down, Ophelia.”

I pause with my ass hovering above the seat at the hard command, eyes slitting instantly and spitting back, “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Sit. Down.”

His eyes narrow on mine with the bitten-off words, and I suck in a breath to verbally flay him with, when Holden interrupts uncomfortably.

“I think I’m going to just—”

“No.” I whip my head his way, countering immediately. “Holden, stay.”

“No, Holden, go.”

“Holden,” I grind out his name, turning back on the instigator of this little rebellion with a warning glare. “Stays.”

He pauses for a beat, seeming to take stock of me before giving a careless shrug. “Fine. Let him stay. I don’t care if there are witnesses.”

Goddammit.

Dammit all to hell because this is not going to go well for anyone.

I’m not ready.

“Fine. Fuck. Go.”

I drop my ass back into the chair, crossing my arms and matching his pose as Holden finishes collecting his books while muttering, “Go find another, yeah, table.”

It’s not until he’s already walking away and we’re left staring at each other that Hayes finally reaches out, though, drumming his fingers against the table a few times before asking me simply, “Are you done?”

“Done with what?”

“Are you done making me bleed?”

I scoff at the hardening of his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” He leans in, sliding a hand closer to me across the table and giving it a knock. “Cause I’m pretty sure you jumped right to the executioner on day one.”

“So what?” I cock my head at him curiously. “Are you saying you don’t deserve it?”

“No.” He blows out a short breath, shaking his head. “No…I just need to know the sentence because this isn’t good for either of us.”

I look away with a shrug, falling back on… “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I count out the next few seconds in my head before his voice fills my ears again.

“Who are you right now?”

And it’s the tone of the question more than anything that has my gaze snapping back up. “Who am I?” I echo incredulously. “Who am I?” He leans back, face falling right before I toss a hand at him. “Who the fuck are you, Flynn?”

Something in his eyes dulls a little at my question, even as he swallows. “O—”

“You know what?” I cut him off quickly, reaching down to grab my backpack. “You don’t get to decide when we do—”

“Ophelia, we have to talk—”

“No!” I shoot out of my seat, wasting no time in leaning across the table to hiss out. “Don’t fucking push me right now because the truth is you’re right, you have no idea who I am.” I suck in a quick breath to finish. “And it’s not appreciated, nor will it get you anywhere.”

“Okay.” He pauses, eyes rolling over my face slowly before coming back up to deliver. “You let me know when I’ve bled enough then.” The offer is pitched so low it’s almost intimate, immediately making me hate every part of it. “You let me know when you’re done, and I can talk to my Ophelia again.”

“Your…your.” I gasp, a sudden pressure on my chest cutting me off for a breath before firing rapidly, “Fuck you, Flynn, I’m not your anything, and this is not a game.”

“Really?” He pauses, lifting a brow. “Then you tell me what it is.”

And the beat of silence that follows damns me because where my denial should be, there’s nothing but the empty space between us.

“Feel free to take your time,” he offers casually.

“I don’t mind waiting, and you’re right, I deserve it.

” His brows shoot down, gaze holding mine for a long moment and searching for something I’m so terrified he’s going to find that I barely move.

“But I’m not Ollie.” He stands, bracing his hands on the table and leaning in close enough to have me pulling back with a hitched breath.

“I know you, Ophelia Sage.” Those hazel eyes start to run over my face, leaving mine to chase after them as he bites out five clear words. “And you don’t scare me.”

His gaze lifts to capture mine, and I purse my lips to stop the way they try to part, my stomach flipping itself into a mess as he continues quietly.

“So I’ll take whatever you want to throw my way, but don’t pretend you’re not playing games, and don’t expect me to take it without comment.” His nostrils flare. “I told you that I won’t walk around on eggshells with you, so just tell me what you want.”

I swallow to buy myself a second before trying. “There’s noth—”

“What do you want, O?”

“Stop it,” I whisper.

“Want me to bleed some more?” He shrugs, eyes holding mine captive. “Fine. Tell me how much, and I’ll tap a vein for you.”

I press my lips together, trying to keep it in, trying to just get through it—to make it back to—

“Want me to be losing my mind?” His face twists, the next words coming out in a dead kind of rasp.

“I’m already there.” He leans in even closer.

“Want me to admit that you deserve better? Someone with their shit together?” He pushes, leaving me scrambling to hold myself together.

“I’ve been aware of that from day one, but I can’t fucking let you—”

I gasp. “I’m not yours to let anything.”

“Want my heart?” He lifts a hand, motioning to his chest. “It’s already yours. Just hand me the knife if that’s what it takes, but I’d prefer you keep the games between us.”

I blink at him, something about his words finally severing that remaining tie on my control and making me whisper back. “Oh, like you did?”

He goes still for a beat before breathing out quietly. “O…”

“You know what I want?” I muse quietly, setting my hand on the table and leaning back his way.

“I want you to go back in time and change it,” His jaw tics at my proclamation, tension between us redoubling with every second that I let it hang there before laughing emptily. “But that’s impossible, right?”

“Ophelia…”