Page 81 of When Hearts Collide

I grab a bat and swing it at a TV, shattering the screen.

“I’m not! And you’re going to regret this because I’m an awesome person and you won’t meet another woman like me, you chauvinistic pig!” My screams echo in the room as the girls cheer and yell out obscenities over the idiotic Ryland Anderson.

“I can make my own damn decisions!” A mirror shatters into a thousand pieces.

“Life isn’t black and white!” I tear out an old dictionary, even though my heart pinches with guilt because books are my babies.

Sweat slicks my hair and dampens my clothes as I use all my energy and power to wreak havoc in the room.

“I hate being the caregiver. The nice girl. I want to be angry like Adrian and sad like Dad. I hate how life is unfair.” My voice cracks as wetness seeps down my cheeks, and I belatedly realize I’m crying.

My arms are achy and tired, my voice is getting hoarse from yelling. I grab some random object next to me and chuck it against the wall, letting go years-worth of tension I’ve been bottling up inside, the release so cathartic, so tiring, it’s emotionally exhausting in the most satisfying way.

“I don’t want to be in control all the time,” I sob. “I want to let go and feel what I feel without pretending. I want Mom to come back.”

My face is a mess of tears and snot, but I don’t care, because my heart is torn open, the ugly poison pooling inside finally pouring out, the corrosive acid spreading to my muscles, my fingers, to every cell of my body.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

My chest feels like it’s cleaved in half, my eyes heavy and swollen, my throat on fire. Suddenly exhausted, both mentally and physically, I slide down against the wall, sit on the dirty floor, and curl up into a fetal position before burying my face in my hands.

The girls gather around me, their voices thick with emotions. They too have been crying along with me. I feel their gentle hands and warm hugs, and a few kisses in my sticky hair.

“I’m so proud of you, Millie,” Grace whispers. I look up, finding her dazzling eyes bright with tears.

“You’re a damn fighter.” Taylor swallows, her eyes looking suspiciously red as well.

“A badass. An utter badass,” Belle echoes their sentiments as she pulls me to her side.

Minutes pass and the adrenaline ekes out of me. Lethargy sets in. I don’t need ice cream or alcohol. I’m all out of tears and energy. I just want to take a hot shower, curl up in my bed, and don’t wake up for a very long time.

“You know, I have an idea about Ryland,” Taylor murmurs as we stare at the ceiling.

“What idea?” Grace asks.

“I mean, from what Millie told us, he’s essentially trying to get over her by finding someone like her to have sex with. So, it’s not really going to work since he’s using faux-Millie to get over real-Millie.”

Taylor sits up, excitement seeping into her voice. “Grace, the scenes in Noire…they’re with random people, right?”

Where is she going with this? I stare at the sisters as they look at each other, evil smiles forming on their faces.

Grace nods. “Yes, they are usually anonymous for the primal scenes. You can request people you know, but most hunters prefer strangers. It’s part of the high, chasing an unknown prey.” She pauses and her eyes take on a sharp glint. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Tay?”

Tay nods eagerly. “Is it possible, you think?”

“I’ll have to call Sofia, or maybe even Elias. They run the Rose floors, you know, but they liked me when I worked for them there, so they can make this happen if I ask.”

I lift my hands up. “What are you guys talking about?” Belle nods beside me, looking as equally confused.

Grace swivels toward me, her voice serious. “Millie, how badly do you want Ryland?”

My injured heart still skips several beats at the mention of him.

“A lot,” I whisper, “And I know he wants me too. For some reason, he just won’t—”

“If I have a way to get you into Noire on Monday night,” Grace begins, a hardened glint in her eyes.

Realization dawns in my mind. “You mean be the girl he’s chasing?”

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