Page 57 of The Cursed

"You're right," he said, nodding his head. "I used you to get what I wanted, and then I tried to doeverythingI could to make it up to you. I would never hurt you again. I would never dothis. I would never throw us away."

"Don't you understand? It was never about us!" I yelled, taking a step back as he approached.

"Always the fucking martyr," he snapped, his words sinking inside deeper into me. I'd been raised to be a martyr, raised to sacrifice myself to get the bones my father couldn't get for himself.

I didn't know who I was without that purpose.

"Let me spell it out for you, Willow. This wasalwaysabout us," Gray growled, taking slow steps toward me. I had no choice but to retreat into the bedroom, looking around the room as he followed me. He gripped the door, swinging it shut so that it slammed behind him. I winced as I thought of my friends waiting to hear from me, wondering if they'd feel the way the very school seemed to vibrate with the force of it. "You wanted to get rid of me, because you're too weak tochooseme."

"You're going tobreak me!" I screamed, the shrill sound shocking even me as it clawed its way up my throat. I froze in the center of the bedroom, refusing to retreat any further. I'd given him enough ground and backed myself into a corner. He could kill me; he could hurt me, and there wasn't a thing I could do to stop it.

I'd deserve it after what I'd done. My guilt pressed down on me, but I forced myself not to think of it. He'd done worse.

"You naive fool," Gray snapped, and my mouth dropped open in shock. "You were broken long before I found you."

I blinked at him from across the room, everything in me going still. "You're wrong," I said, clenching my teeth in anger. I wanted to hurt him, wanted to stab him again.

"I didn't have a heart when I hurt you, and it was the most miserable experience of my existence.Youhave a heart, Witchling, and you would rather murder the man you love than accept that you care about someone!" he yelled, his voice rising.

"Oh fuck you," I snarled, striding toward him. Determined to get past him, I made my way to the bedroom door. “I admit that I care about plenty of people in my life. They deserve my love,unlike you.”

“Is that why you keep them at arm's length? Is that why you can’t even say youlove plenty of peoplein your life?” he asked, his voice mocking as it poked at all the little holes in me where that emotion should have been.

I cared. I protected.

ExceptI’d only loved my mom and Ash.

And now they were both gone.

I shook my head, ending the argument by simply not giving him an answer. There was nothing I could say when we both knew he was right, only it didn’t fucking matter. I hurried for the door.

"We aren't fucking finished," Gray barked, wrapping his fingers around my arm. He gripped me tightly, pulling me close to glower down at me.

"We never even started," I said with a scoff, yanking on my arm until he had to choose between bruising me or releasing me. Where he might have once let me go to avoid hurting me, he held me harder.

"You're terrified of the fact that you love me. You spend every day petrified that I'll do something to hurt you again," he said. I shoved at him, pushing him back and forcefully tearing my arm from his grip. I spun away from him while he caught his balance, racing for the door once again.

My fingers wrapped around the knob, yanking it open. Gray's palm slapped against the wood, slamming it shut as I twisted to face him. I punched him in the stomach, aiming for the wound I'd made between his ribs. He grunted, wrapping his fingers around my throat and slamming my back into the door.

He held me there, his thumb and fingers squeezing just enough to relay his warning. "Enough, Willow."

"Do it," I growled, making his brow furrow with my command. "Just fucking kill me already."

He loosened his grip on my throat, keeping me still as he sighed and leaned forward. Resting his forehead against mine, he paused for a moment. I tensed when he touched his mouth to my forehead, releasing me and tugging me away from the door.

He moved into the living room, and I had no choice but to follow when he picked up the knife I'd used to stab him. I felt the press of its magic the moment he touched it, certain that he'd decided to be done with me already. "You want me dead this badly?" he asked, staring down at the knife and twirling it in his hand.

I couldn't answer. My mouth filled with sand as I watched the sorrow play across his face. "Gray," I said.

"Answer me. Do you want me dead? Do you truly hate me so much that you would rather go through your life and never see me again?" he asked. I rubbed my hands over my face desperately, trying to rid myself of the tears that I couldn't seem to stop.

Gray turned the blade as he came toward me, pressing it into my hand. My fingers wrapped around the hilt, except it wasn't his chest he guided it to.

It was mine.

"This blade was created to kill me, make no mistake. However it's not my weakness, Witchling," he said, releasing my hands and leaving me standing there while holding the knife to my own heart. "You are."

"What are you saying?" I asked, sniffling, as he put distance between us.

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