Page 65 of The Pretty Psycho

Which pissed me off.

Again.

It wasn't about my hand, not really. It was about the fact that I had never felt this powerless, this weak, this fucked up, and there was not just one thing I could blame. Oh no, there was a motherfucking cocktail of things that brought me into this very situation.

My body felt foreign. My heart wasn't in my chest anymore. My mind was fuzzy, broken, sad, you fucking name it. I had no idea what I should do, where to go, who to complain to, but I knew I couldn't keep all of this in.

I grabbed the knife with my left hand, feeling its weight, pressing my fingers around the metallic handle, and I threw. The knife lodged itself into the center of the target, surprising me. It's been a long time since I had to use my left hand, and while it was a requirement The Schatten had made us learn, I rarely ever had to use it.

But it was obviously a handy little thing, especially now.

The next knife went into my grip and flew toward the target fluidly, hitting the center of the head of my imaginary friend. But the target in front of me didn't stay imaginary too long.

The face of every single person that had ever fucked me over suddenly started flying in front of my eyes, and without thinking, so did the knives. One after another they lodged in thecenter of the chest of Heinrich, Alena, Tyler, and every other person that had broken my heart over the years.

I was breathing heavily while sweat ran down my temples, soaking me, but I didn't stop. I couldn't fucking stop.

Adrian's face came up next, making me suddenly stop.

"Are you done?" he asked, and I shook my head, finally seeing that he wasn't just part of my imagination, but he was really here. Standing in front of the target with his arms crossed and those dark eyes trained on me.

"Move," I bit out, taking another knife into my hand. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Well, too fucking bad, because I want to talk to you."

"Adrian—"

"Tell me something, Bambi," he cut me off, glaring at me. "When you told me I was yours, did you mean only when things were going well, or, like, all the time? Because I don't know a single relationship where people don't fight or, I don't know, have a motherfucking past!" he roared, the vein on his forehead popping up. "Or was it just convenient for you because you felt possessive in that moment?"

"Fuck. You!"

"You already did that, baby girl, but that's beside the point. Answer my question, Vega." His voice dropped, dripping with sarcasm. "Was I only yours when things were good and when we were within those four walls? Or did you ever actually plan on fucking staying, including when we came out into the real world."

"You're being unfair."

"I'm being unfair?" He scoffed, pointing at himself. "I'm about to go and bring you a mirror, baby girl, because the person that's being unfair here is you." He pointed at me, clearly pissed off. Why? I had no fucking idea. "When are you going to stoprunning, Vega? Huh? When are you going to stop and fucking see that I'm crazy about you?"

"Stop," I whispered, unable to hear it right now.

"You have me wrapped around your finger, and you still don't trust me!" His voice boomed around us, making me close my eyes. Because he was right.

He was fucking right, and just like before, I ran. My first reaction was not to stay and ask questions, but to run, allowing my fucked-up mind to create all these scenarios that actually made no sense.

He chose me, he kept choosing me, but it was hard to believe in even an ounce of love when all you've ever known was violence and death.

"Move, Adrian," I bit out, unable to listen to him anymore. I wanted him gone, just so I could wallow in my self-hatred and the pity I often harbored. But I needed it right now. I needed to break myself without him as an audience. "Now!"

"No!" He shook his head, widening his stance. "I'm not moving anywhere."

Fuck.

Fuck him with his dark eyes and the paradise I could see waiting for me in the future. Fuck him and all those pretty promises when I knew, I fucking knew, that he would soon realize what a fuckup I truly was.

Fuck. Him.

"Fine," I spat out, lifting my arm higher. "Last warning."

"Gimme your best shot," he challenged me, his eyes shining with an anger matching my own.

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