Page 17 of Paper Thin Love

How normal is Mila’s world? Is she just another rich kid, or has she been forced to witness the kind of darkness that robs you not only of childhood but of freedom?

Do her demons control her?

Do you want to see inside someone’s soul? Break them, then fill those cracks with glue.

That’s what I have to do to Mila. I need to make her my puppet. I have to break her, heal her, and then, when I’m done with her, break her again.

And I hate myself for it.

I do because it makes me closer to the image of my father.

I’m sorry, Mila. You’re a casualty in this war, and you have no idea. But I have to survive. Not for me. Fuck myself, it’s for my cousins, Titan and Damian.

Mila’s face pales, reminding me of death. Right when I think she’s going to be boring to break, she surprises me.

“Fuck you,” she hisses, then she kicks the crutch out from under me.

I get it, Dad. You picked someone who is smoldering. There is a fire in Mila, but she hides it. It’s my job to either smother it or help it grow.

I’m not sure which I’ll choose; both will certainly break the ballerina. One break will allow her to rise up from the ashes; the other will force her to become the ashes.

Chapter 6

Mila

Fuck him!

Did I say that? Yeah. I snapped and stepped out of the role of the perfect smiling doll.

Why?

I don’t know. He just made me.

That terrifies me.

I’m so good at‘taking it,’ignoring. Why couldn’t I ignore Dash?

Turning, I grab the door, but his fist slams against it, trapping me inside.A whoosh of adrenaline enters my blood, making me feel crazed and dizzy.

“Open the door,” I demand as I pound my fist against it. A bead of sweat drips down my back, not from fear. I’m not scared of pain. Sometimes, I enjoy it because it’s the only thing I feel.

I’m terrified because this stranger saw what no one else has. He saw something I’ve hidden. Not the bruises. He saw my cracks and then proceeded to probe them. I can usually hide it with my wide smile and cute dimples.

“I asked you a question.”He leisurely purrs as he drums his fingers against the door.

I spin around, preparing to go nuclear, but his hand grabs my throat, pinning me to the door. I didn’t really look at him before. I was too busy maintaining my fake smile for Miss. Hawthorne. However, when your air supply is in the hands of a psycho, you tend to soak in the details. He’s tall, one of the tallest guys here, which will make him popular amongst the girls. His high cheekbones are wrapped in pale skin, but it’s his hair that makes me blink. It’s blonde but not golden; it’s arctic.

Dangerous. Nature’s warning sign to stay the hell away from him.

So why do I want to reach out and ask him if it’s his natural color?

Am I one of those idiots who tries to play petting zoo with wild, feral animals? I guess living among them for so long at Silverstone has turned me into one.

My breath catches, my throat pressing against his hand, warm and firm around my neck. He relaxes his fingers then clenches them as I exhale, as if this was as natural as the ebb and flow of tranquil ocean waters.

His head tilts, highlighting the shine on his high cheekbones. Damn, he’s so pretty. Men shouldn’t be called that; they already get to rule the world, they don’t need more attributes. His gaze moves over me leisurely, like a stem breaking free from the soil and feeling the heat of the sun on its leaves for the first time.

I blush under his scrutiny. I force myself to swallow, desperately trying to suppress the buzzing feeling in my bones, as if a swarm of bees is trapped within.

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