Page 115 of Cruel Games

Like she knew she was slowly losing her mind, but she couldn’t reach out and grab the brakes in time.

Moving in to kiss her, if only to force her to stop laughing, was less of a conscious decision and more of an instinctualreaction. I would never raise a hand to her, never slap her across the face to snap her out of it. But I couldn’t just stand by and watch her descend into madness.

So I silenced her laughter with my lips.

She froze in my arms, her laughter halted, but the second I pulled away, they changed to whole-body-wracking sobs, dragged from the pits of hell and filled with every negative emotion known to man.

I let her arms wrap around my neck as she finally broke down, her sobs bringing a new sort of sound to the melody of echoes in the room.

For once, I was thankful for the noise-dampening effect of the running water. It allowed her to fall apart without worrying that others would hear her.

“Cry,” I whispered, burying my nose in her wet, tangled hair. “If you need to.”

By the time she’d exhausted herself, the water had grown cold. I turned the knob off as she leaned against the mirror behind her, staring into the paint like it might reveal the secret to happiness or something.

As I turned back to her, those calm, detached eyes turned on me. “Out of hot water?”

I nodded solemnly, suddenly clammed up tight now that she was talking back. Her sigh was so heavy I could practically see it settle in her like a brick in water.

“The thought was nice.” She picked at her dress, seemingly uncaring that it was around her waist. I watched her hands shake as she fumbled with the damn fabric, so I moved to help her, and suddenly, she went still.

I waited for her to speak as her hands settled over mine, stilling my movements. But she said nothing; she just stared at her lap, at the dress we both clung to now.

“Everything alright?”

“No,” she mumbled, a stray tear falling from her eyes. “It’snot.”

“Can I help?” I would do whatever it took to make her happy again. Let her chain me to the back of my own damn bike and drag me to the end of the freeway, leash me, and make me walk through the Guild in front of everyone, even roll in a field of flowers and mud. Whatever she wanted, I’d make it happen.

“You’ve done enough, don’t you think?” Her sobs had quieted and gone, and anger had replaced it.

Anger, I was familiar with.

“I protected you.” Even to my ears, the words were hollow and false. I hadn’t protected her. I protectedus—from having to deal with the fallout of a misconception. We should have told her from the beginning. Shouldn’t have hidden the truth. But I was afraid to see her snap.

Afraid to be the reason for her pain.

And I didn’t even know her then.

“I never asked for your protection,” she whispered, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. “I don’t need it.”

“I’m sorry,” I tried again, hoping honesty would change the tide I found myself fighting against.

“Words mean nothing after the damage is done.” Her eyes were cutting, harsh, their light snuffed out by my own fucking mistakes. “And for a man who never speaks, you’ve suddenly developed quite a collection of worthless ones.”

That stung worse than alcohol on an open wound. Worse than stepping on a jellyfish on the beach. Worse than a shock from a taser straight to the bare skin. I yearned to tell her all the things that circled the drain of my mind, but the words got stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. And I could never give her what she deserved—someone to whisper sweet nothings in her ear late at night, who made promises and kept them, making her every dream and fantasy come true.

I wasn’t that man. Hell, I was hardly a man.

If she wanted a beast, I could give her that. But expectingmore of me was asking to be let down. And the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her more.

I was like a broken record, skipping the same track over and over, unable to change the tempo, unable to adjust the needle of life, unable to reset myself without divine intervention, stuck on the same annoying notes over and over on a deranged loop.

I wanted to be her music, but instead, all I was for her was a scratchy, glitched soundtrack.

And I wish she could know how much I yearned to be more.

Without thought, without hesitation, I lowered my head to hers and pressed my lips to her forehead, closing my eyes as I drank her in. She wasn’t some soft, wilting flower who needed to be put in a glass cage and saved from dying. She was a fighter, a warrior, and she could defend herself.