Page 92 of Ugly Truths
“What’s there to consider? He’s a monster. People are dying because of him. You want me to sit back and do nothing?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I respond, running a hand through my hair. “I just—I don’t want you to carry guilt for the rest of your life. You and Natalie both. This will change you.”
“What do you know about carrying guilt, Elena?” He throws the words at me like he’s been waiting to use them.
I steady my breath and close my eyes, willing my body to absorb the pain.This isn’t really about me.
“I made reprehensible choices.” When I open my eyes, my vision grows hazy around the edges. “When you first brought me back here, you told me you were going to make sure I was really dead this time. I told you I didn’t want you to be the one to do it.” His pacing halts abruptly, and I press the words past the lump in my throat. “I still don’t want that for you now.”
Silas turns toward me fully, his eyes pools of spilled oil ready to ignite. “How can you say that?” he demands. “Knowing what he’s done?”
“We’re on the same team,” I plead. “Your father needs to face the consequences for his actions.” My voice drops as I take a tentative step closer. “But I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you.”
Shaking his head, Silas backs away, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Stop trying to make this about me.”
“Itisabout you!” I counter, my frustration boiling over. “You’ll have to live with it, Silas. And I know you think you can handle it now, but what happens if you can’t?”
His voice drops to a dangerous growl. “You think this is some new part of me? Some reaction to what my father’s done?” Just as quickly as he created distance between us, he closes it, towering over me. “This—” he gestures sharply to himself, to the fire raging behind his eyes, “—this has always been here.”
“Silas—”
“No,” he cuts in, looking at me with a sharp, predatory focus. “I think you’re smart enough to realize you weren’t the first person I’ve put in those holding rooms.” His lips curl into a self-loathing smile. “I enjoy this part of it, and he’d be no exception.”
The words drip with both shame and defiance, daring me to flinch, to create space. But I don’t, even as my pulse races and my heart pounds against my ribs.
I swallow hard. “I know those parts of you exist, Silas,” I admit. “But they’re not who you are as a whole. You’re more than whatthisis.”
His mock amusement only worsens at this as he shakes his head. “You can’t compartmentalize me to separate the pieces you’re comfortable with and ignore the rest. It’s all or nothing, Elena.” He takes a significant step back, arm sweeping toward the door in a cold, deliberate motion. “And if you can’t handle that, there’s the door.”
For a moment, I stand there, taking in his challenge. To leave and let this fire consume him. And maybe, for a fleeting second, I consider it. Maybe I should save myself and find peace somewhere far away.
But I won’t.
No matter how much he wants me to be, I’m not scared of him. His capacity for both destruction and devotion has always spoken to something in me in a way I can’t explain. It’s part of why we’re so good together when we let ourselves be.
And I know what this is. I’ve seen this before—I’vedonethis before. I pushed Silas away when I knew I had to leave in June, and now he’s doing it to me. But there’s nowhere for him to hide, and even if there were, I’d go scorched earth to find him just as he found me.
I take a step closer, then another, until I’m standing directly in front of him. “Don’t you dare push me away, Silas Wells,” I demand, quiet but resolute.
His eyes narrow into slits. Tentatively, I reach out a hand, my fingers brushing lightly against his chest. “I’m not leaving.” I glare up at him. “Fuck you for trying to make me.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond before rising onto my toes and kissing him. At first, he doesn’t move, and I think maybe I’ve pushed him too far.
Then he breaks.
Fingers curl into the soft skin at my waist, hauling my body closer to his until there’s nowhere left to go. His tongue presses against the seam of my lips, and when I comply, he kisses me like he’s trying to rip my soul from my body. There’s nothing gentle in it. Nothing tender.
It’s a battle of wills, and neither of us will concede.
Slowly, the hardness in his shoulder starts to soften. When he feels malleable and relaxed against my hands, I pull back, inhaling. “You’re going to take me to bed,” I whisper a little breathlessly, gripping the front of his shirt. “And then, tomorrow, we’re figuring out a new plan, because I’m not letting this destroy you. Do you hear me?”
The black abyss I’ve become accustomed to in his eyes over the past three days recedes just enough to reveal the chocolatey brown beneath. Thawing into something—if not entirely warm—at least a bit more human.
His lips twitch. “You think you can handle me right now, Lena?” Hearing that nickname hits me like a balm.
I don’t flinch. “I’ve always handled you.”
His hand slides up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tilts my head. “Good,” he murmurs, kissing me again, slower this time. He walks me backward toward the bedroom without breaking contact, and for the first time in three days, I feel like I’ve pulled him back from the edge.
