Page 26 of Paper Thin Love

Stop looking at my lips like you want them back in your mouth, Mila. I’m no good for you, little ballerina.

“What happened?” she asks carefully.

I’m not going to answer her, but then her sweet face forces my tongue to slip out and yet again confess another truth.“I got tired.”Shut up! Stop talking to her. What the fuck are you, an open book you want her to read?

It feels good to be picked up, to want to be read and not just used, doesn’t it?

“What does that mean?”

“It means I got into a fight hoping to lose.” My molars knock against each other as I grind my jaw shut.

“Why did you want to lose?”

“Losing can show you what you’re made of.”

"Did you like what you found—what held you together so you could stand again?" There’s that dangerous side she hides behind her thick lashes.

I lean down; my shadow covers her face like moonlight corrupting a peaceful pond, making it look ghostly.“Careful, Mila.”

“You must have liked it,” her throat rolls as she forces her gulp down,“or you wouldn’t have gotten back up.”

“And you must like to play with monsters.”

Her lips part, eyes wide like a scared, foolish girl teetering on the edge about to jump to her death.“Some monsters can be tamed.” She whispers so low it forces me to step closer.

“Is that what you want to do, Mila, tame me?”

Her chest rises and falls, pushing her small breast closer and closer to me.“No.”

“Liar.”

“I just want to be alone. I want to be free.” She looks into my eyes. Not many people do that. They look all over my face but never my eyes. It’s like staring down a loaded gun daring me to shoot.

“Then stop sticking your hand out, trying to feed me. I’ll bite and never let you go.”

I don’t know how my hand lands on her cheek, but it’s there, cupping her face. The warmth of her flesh penetrates my cold, terrible hands, making the calluses feel smooth again. My thumb presses into her chin, drawing her nearer. Her cheeks bloom like the petals of a rose opening for the first time.

“Stop it!” she hisses.

“Make me.” I smirk,“Push me away.”

Hot breath bathes my fingers. It isn’t until a group of students walks by that she jerks away, and then she pretends to fix her hair again.

“Scared to stain your perfect image?” I retort. What the fuck am I doing? My cock is hard. I want to do things to her. Maybe it’s a side effect of my broken leg. Maybe I’m just admitting I’m a monster and no longer fighting it. After all, Damian and Titan suggested I do this: find a toy, play with it, use it, then discard it.

Her lips tug to one side, and she is unsure how to reply.

“You should let your hair down,” I add.

She jerks her chin up,“And give you a leash to grab me by. I think not, asshole. It's bad enough I made a deal with you.”

I laugh. She surprises me like that.

She looks down at my broken leg. There goes our banter, back to the cold, hard truth—my weakness.

“Um…the cafeteria has an espresso machine. In case you ever feel tired and ponder losing again. Think better this time because I guarantee you that the men here won’t let you just lose, Dash. They will take a lot more.” She offers with a small sympathetic smile; her eyes—those hazel orbs—see the truth. She knows I, Dash King, reached my boiling point; nothing was left. I evaporated, accepting failure, seeking it out, hoping it would destroy me. But like vapor, I fell back down, and now I’m going to start simmering again.

Why did I tell her that dark mistake of a truth?

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