Page 67 of Torment

Mason’s brows furrowed as he turned and stared at the wall, one hand resting on the scars on his face. “Jesus. Of course it fucking was,” he muttered. I barely heard him.

“What?”

“For fuck’s sake, Jolie. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid,” he said, turning back to me with narrowed eyes. “I couldn’t say sorry because I know what you’re like. I knew you would try to find it in your heart to forgive me. But you can’t. You need to hate me.”

“No, I don’t,” I said quietly.

He slammed his fist on the counter, making me flinch. “You can’t forgive me,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I can. I understand. You spent years thinking it was my fault your family was murdered.”

Mason’s lips flattened. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse for what I did to you.”

“Please, just listen to me,” I said, realizing I was already losing him. “I’m serious. I understand. I know how terrible and guilty you feel right now, but—”

“Jolie, stop!” he growled, sweeping my coffee mug right off the counter. I jumped as the china shattered and brown liquid splattered everywhere. “I don’t want your understanding or forgiveness! I don’t deserve it, and you fucking know it.”

“Well, I don’t agree with that,” I said, stepping closer.

He closed his eyes and groaned, shaking his head. “I fucking tortured you,” he said. “I wanted to kill you.”

“I know,” I murmured. “But I forgive you.”

“Don’t.” His eyes snapped open and he glared down at me, as if he could frighten me into changing my mind. “I won’t let you.”

I took another step toward him. “Just think. What would’ve happened if you weren’t attacked that day eight years ago? What would’ve happened if I wasn’t left alone, thinking you abandoned me? Where would we be now?”

Mason rubbed his temples. “I told you to stop,” he muttered. “I can’t think about that.”

“You can. I haven’t stopped thinking about it in weeks,” I said softly. I touched a hand to the scar on his face and tentatively stroked a finger along it. “Mason, I know I should let go, but I can’t. I can’t hate you. Not when I still—”

“Don’t say it.” Mason cut me off again, pressing an index finger over my lips.

I defiantly jerked my face away. “Not when I still love you.”

He stared right at me, gaze filled with fire. “You can’t love me.”

“You can’t stop me from loving you.”

“Christ, Jolie…”

“Do you love me?” I asked, my voice quavering as my hands trembled.

“I can’t answer that.”

“Like you said before you threw me out three weeks ago: you can and you fucking will,” I said. Even though I was only inches away, I had to talk louder now, because the rain had started bucketing down again, drumming on the roof as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“God, you drive me fucking crazy.” Mason moved a hand to my neck as he muttered, cupping my throat. Once upon a time, I would’ve worried that he was going to choke me, but I knew better now. He would never hurt me again. Not unless I asked for it.

His thumb brushed over my neck, and I bit back a moan at the feel of his rough skin against me. I’d dreamed of this every night since I left.

“Answer me,” I whispered. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I fucking love you,” he growled. “That’s why I have to let you go. The things I did are unforgivable, no matter what you say.”

“No.” My breath stuttered in my chest as I stood up on my tiptoes and brushed my lips against his. The hand on my neck tightened, pulling me closer.

“Fuck, Jolie…” Mason groaned, and I kissed him harder, my mouth hungry and demanding against his as I wound my fingers through his hair. I let out a sudden gasp as he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me onto the marble counter in one smooth movement. A hand snaked between my legs, roughly pushing them apart so that he could stand between them, pressing his hips up against me.

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