Page 94 of The Cruelest Chaos

My eyes flutter open and I angle my head, trying to see through the crack in the door.

It takes me a second, but I find a good vantage point, see them both sitting in small plastic chairs, side by side, feeding celery to the Guinea pigs which are swarming around their feet.

Ella has on that bright orange sweatshirt and Connor is wearing a dark blue jacket that hugs his frame,Carolina Speedwaywritten in white letters on the back.

He doesn’t say anything to Ella, and she doesn’t seem to mind as she watches him hand a piece of celery to one of the animals.

I see the side of his face, his straight nose, high cheekbones. His facial structure kind of reminds me of Lucifer and I don’t like it, even though I don’t know why.

Connor isn’t ugly, and I guess I hate that.

I hate that I’m spying on them, too, but I can’t stop. I like to hear her when she isn’t with me. She speaks more freely with Connor than she does with me and although I hate that, too, I want to hear her voice. Her words.

Ella sighs, dropping the last of her celery onto the hay floor. Connor does the same, and then they both look at each other.

Ella has a slight smile on her face and Connor’s lips quirk into a smirk.

I realize I’m holding my breath, and I have a bad feeling that I’m not going to like what happens next. There’s a lump in my throat as I keep watching anyway, and when Connor takes off his glove and brushes his thumb against her face, I think I’m going to puke.

But she smiles at him, catches his fingers in hers and holds them against her cheek.

I realize my own fingers have grown cold, and there’s a sour taste in my mouth as he leans toward her, his hand shifting to the back of her head, pulling her close to him.

No.

I know she won’t do it. She’s fucking mine.

She’ll pull away. She’ll stop him. With the way she lets me treat her, she’s just for me. And I haven’t been with anyone since Chelsea, just a few days after I met her. And that was a mistake. A one-off, because I thought I could get Ella off of my brain.

It’s been only Ella for weeks now, which must be a record for me.

But she doesn’t care. She isn’t stopping him.

He angles his head, and she does too, her eyes going to his mouth.

No.

She fucking wouldn’t. Not after what I did for her: with her mother, Jeremiah, Nicolas. Not after what she did for me.

But she does it.

His mouth hovers over hers, andshecloses the distance between them. I want to run, but my pulse feels sluggish, my limbs heavy, like I’m anchored to the spot by my own mind.

This is no less than what I deserve.

After how I screamed at her. How I fucked her. How I refuse to tell her anything about me. About my friends. My fucking family.

Amor fati.

Love of fate.

Some sick part of me does love this, this pain in my chest. Especially as she opens her mouth and I see his tongue sweep over hers, and she moans a little, closing her eyes. He pulls her closer, then he picks her up, sets her in his lap so she’s straddling him.

His hands go under her sweatshirt, and she moans again, into his mouth.

Let it go.

Let it go.