Page 37 of The Muse
The fucking distance between us grows to ten damn miles with that statement.
“Say that again,” I snarl.
She pulls in a long breath. “I’m Landon’s sister. Persephone Broderick.”
Landon’s sister.
I glare at her features, searching for anything that might show me that. Nothing does, short of the blonde hair, but the words are live in the air now and I’m barely containing the aggression that’s rising through me because of them.
“If that’s the truth, I suggest you leave. Quickly.”
I turn before my hands get the better of me, and then a rage so fucking profound rises through me that I haven’t got a hope of containing it. My body swings back to her, feet storming the space between us. “Tell me you just lied for some reason.”
“I can’t. I didn’t. But Scott, this–”
“This is some sick fucking game, right?” She backs away a few steps at my hostile mood, her hands up and head shaking rapidly.
“No. No, it isn't. Everything’s been real between us. I promise, it has. It's just that—”
“Real? Fuck you and your idea of real.” My fingers reach for her,ready to sling her out and yet desperate to show her the anger she’s created. “Did he send you here?”
“What? No.” The force of my hand gripping her arm makes her yelp and squirm as I drag her towards the door. “Scott, please. What are you doing? I’m trying to help. Don’t you know how much–”
“I clearly don’t know anything about you at all.”
She struggles in my grip until she’s managed to pull herself out of it, her legs scurrying her over to the other side of the room. “Calm down. I didn’t have to tell you this. Can’t you see I’m on your side here?”
“On my side?” I’m back over in front of her face before she even manages to move away from me this time, not caring in the slightest for the tears she’s trying to mask. “You’re a fucking Broderick. There isn’t one thing about that damn statement that means you’re on my side about anything. Get the fuck out.”
Everything about her stills, mouth open in shock at my tone. If I was her, I'd leave while I still had an element of dignity about myself. Instead of doing that, she stalls in place and searches for more words to help her out. There aren't any. Everything we potentially were has just been obliterated.
“Can’t we just talk about this like rational adults?”
A nearly fucking hysterical laugh falls out of me. “Adults? You’re barely one of those at all. And you don’t get to talk about being a fucking adult when you lied your way into my bed to help your fucking brother get a good deal.”
Her eyes widen, a spark of anger flaring. It's fucking unwise at the moment, given my mood. “That’s not fair. I didn’t even know you then, and then, when I did, I didn’t know what to do. I never lied. Never.”
The last of her words makes me so bloody mad I reach for her wrist and start dragging again. Didn’t lie? The whole bloody situation is a lie. Her name. The reason she’s here. Even the fucking emotion she's pretending to feel.
She yelps and wriggles again, full-on tears falling this time. I don’t care. Christ, I even took her on dates and gave her pieces of me that barely anyone has ever seen.
“I fucking trusted you,” I grate as we reach the door again. I snatch her bag from the side table, scattering boxes to the floor in the process. “And you do this to me?”
More tears choke from her as I pull the door wide and push her through it. Her bag follows her and lands on the floor as her body tries forging back at me. “Scott. No. Don’t do this,” she shouts, wiping under her eyes. “I’ve seen the painting. I know about it, and we’re more than this.”
My whole body freezes, my body vibrating with yet more anger caused by another fucking statement.
“I … I’m not a Broderick. Well, I am, but I don’t want to be when they’re like this, and that’s why I’m telling you.” Still, I glare, perhaps waiting for something that sounds even remotely truthful to fall from her lips. Nothing will. Not now. Even her idea of truth could be a lie, now I know Landon’s involved. “The painting, Scott? That’s us. That’s real.”
It was for me, but it certainly isn’t for her. Especially considering she’s even sneaked her way around my home, looking at things that were not for her to see until I was ready. That painting is private. It's honesty and pain, happiness even. It's part of me. It's all me and her and what I thought she was— what we were becoming maybe. I’m fucking fuming with rage about that on its own, let alone the rest of the crap she’s decided to offload at me. I can feel it all over me, building and coursing and causing an untold temper to descend.
“Unless you want me to show you exactly how I’m feeling about you sneaking around my home, I suggest you accept being dismissed graciously.”
Her hands reach for me. “Scott, please!” she shouts, as more tears coat her cheeks.
“Please what?”
“Listen to me. I’m just trying to do the right thing, and you’re being–”
