Page 133 of Seeing Grayscale

He wants totalk.

No he wants to fucking kill me. That’s what he wants.

Iknewit was too good to be true. I knew it. How many times did I tell myself this wastemporary? How many god damn times did I ignore the red flags? How fucking stupid was I to believe it?

“Please stop,” Hunter’s voice cracks, and I throw the dustpan at him.

“Fuck you!” I roar, my throat clenching with the bass I’m forcing into the scream. “Fuck you.” I toss the broom down and run out of the kitchen.

He follows me. “Gray, listen to me.”

I try to bolt for the front door, but he blocks my path. Growling in frustration, I turn on my heel and run for the stairs. My feet slap over the hardwood, sticky with sweat and blood. When I reach the top, he’s right behind me.

Can’t he see I’m just not fuckingready?

Of all people, he should understand that. He should respect it. Let me gather the god damned bandages to tend to my fatal wounds.

“Just stop, Gray!” A hot, firm hand grabs the crook of my elbow and wheels me around just before I reach the main bedroom door.

I writhe in his hold, yelling and overall belligerent. I beat on his chest, spitting out every foul thing I can think of because he’s got me trapped in this fucked up corner with no way out. His other hand holds me by the bicep, restraining me.

I never fought before. As soon as I knew I couldn’t win, I gave up. I want to give up now. I want to just lie down and take it, but I can’t.

He doesn’t get to break his fucking promise.

So I spit in his face.

“What the hell? You aren’t letting me talk! No one lets me fucking talk!” he screams in my face before releasing me.

I stumble, fall backward, and land on my ass. “Don’t do it,” I beg, hating how I want to hurt him but can’t stand the way he’s looking at me.

His eyes say he’s heartbroken.

His eyes say he’s defeated.

His eyes say he finally picked who matters more, and it isn’tme.

“Stop,” I whimper and cover my head with my arms. “Stop.”

Everything I’ve chosen to ignore, the hands tearing at my clothes—my body—the broken bones and bruises, the starvation and thirst—it all comes back.

And it hurts so bad I can’t catch my breath.

I shiver like I did on so many cold nights.

I heave like my stomach has been empty for days.

“What am I doing?” I hear, but it sounds so far away. “Gray, please, I’m sorry.”

None of them are sorry.

Promises are very rarely ever kept.

Hope is for assholes.

Calm means complacency.

Don’t lose your edge, Gray. Keep one eye open and a knife at the ready. Stuff can be replaced, but your life can’t.

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