Page 91 of Sardonic Burn

“So? What happens if I tell you I do care about you in some sort of fucked-up way?”

A knot forms in my throat, and the wind gets knocked out of my chest. I feel my lungs start to collapse, the brazen confession replaying in my head on repeat. Slowly, I lift my chin up, staring at him with no trace of emotions on my face.

“I’ll have to kill you then.” My words come out in a hushed whisper because I’m too afraid of uttering them. “Because that would be both of our undoing.”

“Why don’t you let it be our undoing, Noelle? Why are you so terrified of dancing on the edge of the abyss?”

“Because it can’t happen. You’re the man I’m supposed to hate more than anything.”

“Supposed to?”

“The man that I do hate the most.”

Slowly, he closes his eyes with a light nod of his head. He pushes himself away, making distance between us. Finally, I’m able to breathe freely, ignoring the burning sensation in my chest.

“Then I guess it’s good that I don’t care about you. I need you, but that’s a different story. Now, go get ready and get the hell out of my sight.”

His cold demeanor and harsh words make my heart sink to my feet. I’m frozen for a couple of minutes, processing what the hell just happened, when my phone buzzes. It breaks me out of the trance, and I quickly comply with Hudson’s wishes.

As I’m getting dressed, something wet slips from the corner of my eye. I stare at myself in the mirror, laughing like amaniac at the sight. Tear after tear falls until my cheeks are fully stained, dripping down my chin.

Why the fuck am I crying?

I sniffle and wipe the salty liquid with the back of my palm before slapping myself as harshly as I can. My handprint remains on my cheek as a reminder of how much of an idiot I am.

Why the hell did I get my hopes up, even a little?

I don’t like Hudson, at all. He’s obnoxious, annoying, and irritating. Yet all my mind chooses to focus on is how he makes me feel. It’s like I’m the only girl in the world, desirable and needed.

He got me addicted to the feeling and is now refusing to take responsibility. Well, it’s not like I gave him a warm opening either, but I’m not supposed to open up first. Not to him, and not about those twisted desires and needs that swarm my body, mind, and soul.

It’s for the best.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I leave his house, quietly closing the door behind me and leaving a piece of me in the bedroom I spent the past seven days in.

I fucking hate the entire world. Everyone can eat shit and go to fucking hell.

I cannot believe that I’m currently going through the fucking sewers of New York.

Willingly.

Again.

It reeks, my boots are ruined, and I think at least four rats have run over my feet in the past couple of minutes. The dirty water dripping from the stained walls can only be described as shit, food that’s been expired for the last century, and rotten intestines.

I gag, trying to suppress the urge to vomit all over my clothes. By now, I smell like showers are a foreign concept. I took a full bath with self-care two hours ago, yet now I’m looking like one of the rats.

“I cannot believe this,” I mutter to myself once I reach the destination.

The gigantic, metal door is in front of me. My hands are covered with leather gloves, so I don’t feel nauseated when I push it open. It closes behind me, silently, as if it doesn’t weigh as much as a whole fucking car.

“You need to fucking relocate,” I announce, slightly screaming as I toss my coat, gloves, and hat to the ground, wincing at the smell. “I’m never coming here again.”

“You say that every time, yet here you are,” Lucas says before laughing at my state. I throw him a glare, and he clears his throat, his lips still tilting upward. “Anyway, why are you so pissed?”

“Because rats and I have become one.”

He rolls his eyes. “You chose this spot because it’s the most convenient and the hardest to track.”

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