Page 96 of Severance

My blood is roaring in my ears as I turn around to face him. “Maybe.”

He shuts the door, his gaze cutting back to me. “You can’t just show up here whenever you feel like it, Alana.”

“Why not? Do you have something to hide?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Do you have something to hide?” My voice pitches as I approach him.

“I’m packing.” He completely brushes off my question and shakes his head lightly.

“You fucking stood me up and I hate you!” I’m failing to keep a grip on my anger, and all the hurt I’ve been hiding inside for so long just pours out of me.

“I said I was sorry,” he tells me, the mask of indifference never leaving his face.

“Are you sorry you slept with me too?”

The air around us turns thick. Mikah doesn’t break eye contact. His jaw clenches and his face takes on a pained expression.

“Answer me,” I demand, staring at him unblinkingly. My palm slams into his chest, but I must not hit him hard enough, because he doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m not sorry we had sex, Alana,” he murmurs. “I just don’t think we should keep seeing each other. Like, as friends or otherwise. Not right now.”

The words shock me. I feel the floor beneath me shifting. “Why?”

“Why?!” Mikah snaps and his eyes widen. “Because you only call or text when you need to feel like you’re withhim! Not with me! Never with me!”

My heart clenches.

“I’m not a fucking substitute. I have feelings. And if you’re too blind to see past your perfect nose, then I don’t want this”—he motions between us—“to keep going.”

Everything he’s saying slowly settles into my mind. “How am I supposed to know all these things if you never want to talk about it?!”

At this point, we’re both screaming, our voices booming through the apartment like thunder.

“You never want to talk about it either!” Mikah’s face pinches in frustration. “All you want to talk about is him!”

“We have to talk about him first!”

“Why? He’s fucking dead!”

Tears pool in my eyes and Mikah’s silhouette becomes a blur. “Because I don’t have anyone else to talk to.” My hand reaches for his chest and I’m not sure if I want to hurt him again or simply touch him. There’s this stupid part of me that desperately wants his warmth, but I can’t see or feel anything. My head’s heavy and my heartbeat pulsing in my temples drowns out the rest of the noise.

Mikah’s hand catches mine. “You can’t just show up here and ask me to pretend I’m him for a few hours and then go on with your day. It doesn’t work like that. It’s all or nothing.”

“I’m not asking you to pretend.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes. You are. You’re a fucking weirdo. You don’t even see it when you do that shit.”

Hearing this from him is like a punch in the gut, but I’m so pissed off and frustrated that I just tell him, “Fine!” I jerk my hand out of his grip and bolt for the door. “Go to hell!” The curtain of tears in my eyes makes everything inside the apartment look fuzzy, and I trip over a box on the way out.

I hear Mikah’s footsteps thumping behind me as my fingers curl around the door handle. I jerk it open with every intention to leave, but he catches up with me. His palm slaps against the door and it bangs shut. He presses his chest to my back, his weight pushing me forward. Panic shoots down my spine like a lightning bolt. My breaths are loud and shallow, and I’m convinced that whatever Zeke gave me wasn’t weed, because it’s not relaxing at all. On the contrary, every part of me burns with annoyance and anger.

“You wanna talk?” Mikah’s hand slides to my hip. His low voice is hoarse and uneven.

---