Page 68 of The Pretty Psycho

Nah, we owned it. I knew what a fuckup I was and I knew what I was capable of, but I never blamed it on the life I’d led. I had never blamed all the shit I pulled on my mommy and daddy issues. And if she was going to use that as an excuse, then she was a child that I didn't want to deal with. If her emotional maturity could not comprehend that there were people out here who were willing to destroy the world for her, just to see her happy, then she could take all those excuses and get the fuck out of here the moment we’d dealt with my father and The Schatten.

"Okay, you've got a point there," Dimitri finally agreed with me after seemingly contemplating my words for a second. "By the way." His eyes moved to the side of my head. "You're kinda bleeding."

"I know," I huffed. "She cut me." My hand lifted up absentmindedly, rubbing against the cut on my ear that was still slowly bleeding.

"She what?" Dimitri's eyes all but bulged outside of his head. "Seriously?"

"She was throwing knives," I murmured, dropping my hand over my knee. "I stepped in front of the target, willing her to talk to me, to stop throwing a tantrum like a fucking child, so she threw a knife at me." It would've been better if she had killed me.It would've hurt less than me realizing that she wasn't going to budge, not after she threw that knife.

She cut me deliberately, but I would never be able to do anything like that to her, not even when I was at my angriest. If it was easier for her to hide behind all that anger and all that pain she clung on to, then maybe I should stop trying.

I wasn’t faultless in this situation. I know… I know there were things I did thinking I was protecting her, and maybe I wasn’t listening. Maybe I was too stubborn for my own good, but I didn’t try to run. I didn’t try to hide from her.

I knew how hard it was letting go of all those old habits and old fears, but you had to want to work on yourself. You had to be willing to change something, otherwise you would stay the same your entire life, and the whole point of being alive wasn't just about going through the motions, but actually evolving, learning and allowing yourself to make mistakes from time to time.

"I wanted to be her anchor, Dimitri. I wanted her to feel safe with me, but I can't force her. I would never force her. That's not what this is about."

"I know, man."

"And if she doesn't want it." I shrugged. "I guess I need to pull back. I need to let her breathe." His eyes searched mine, his feelings on the topic obvious even without him having to say it. He agreed with me, but he understood her too, and I started regretting getting involved with her as well, because there was no way for me to lose her without losing Arseniy and Dimitri in the process. "But anyway," I started, ready to erase the pain at least for a little while. "I think I'm going to head into the sparring room and get some of this energy out of me. Wanna come?"

"I wish," he grunted, getting up from the ground at the same time as me. "But I don't think either one of us will be sparring right now."

"W-What?" I looked at him, confused beyond measure. "Why?"

"Because a package has arrived," he said, letting the anger wash over his features. "And it's been addressed to you."

"To me?" I pointed at myself. And then it dawned on me. "It's from my father, isn't it?"

He didn't need to say anything. That barely-there nod told me everything I needed to know.

Gerard Zylla was making his next move.

22

VEGA

Yolanda foundme sitting on the floor, staring at the cracks on its surface, looking like a fucking ghost. Or at least that's what she said and how she described it. My mind was a foggy mess as she helped me up and led me out toward the bathroom, where she practically started drowning me in cold water, until I came back to my senses, capable of stringing together a proper sentence.

Now I wished she had just left me on that floor because thinking about what happened was not on my list of priorities. Hell, it wasn't something I even wanted to remember, not even a little bit. The fact that it still felt like something in my chest kept cracking, all the while Yolanda kept looking at me as if I would completely break any moment now, bothered me. It fucked with my head because I didn't want to be this person.

This weak.

This indecisive.

I couldn't blame Adrian for giving up on me. I couldn't blame him for telling me all the hard truths I really didn't want to hear. I was a coward. I was the worst kind of coward who couldn't let him go, but I also didn't know how to be with him without letting go of all these fucked-up thoughts inside my head.

I had no idea how to stop running.

I didn't mind taking on people twice my size in combat, but emotions… Emotions weren't something I ever had to deal with—I was never taught how—and everything that had happened over the span of the last couple of weeks was related to emotions. It would've been easier, and it was easier, when I simply knew what my mission was and who my target was.

This… This shit wasn't easy. Not even a little bit.

"Are you going to say something?" Yolanda finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence. I was sitting on top of the sink, staring at the ceiling as if it could give me the answers on what I should do. "Or will you keep ignoring the fact that I practically found you in a catatonic state?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, tough luck, buttercup. We are going to talk." My eyes cut to her, narrowing at the pissed-off look on her face. "I heard what happened."

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