Page 25 of Hymns of the Broken
But I don’t want easy.
I want her to choose me, not out of spite or fear, not because Blake pushed her too far or tore her down first. I want it to be unbearable not to have me. I want her to need it—need me—so severely that the silence between touches feels like punishment.
I reach the end of the narrow hallway and stop, shoulder against the wall. I let my head fall back and close my eyes, replying every breath I just stole from her.
Get it together.
My hand curls into a fist against the nearest wall, knuckles cracking with restraint. I count to ten. Then fifteen. I remind myself of what I’m doing. Why I’m not rushing this. Predators don’t chase—they wait. And she’s already halfway in the trap. One more touch, and she’ll think the fall was her idea.
And when she comes to me—when she finally asks for it?
I won’tstop.
I grind my jaw and take a breath, trying to steady myself, when I hear footsteps. Not soft enough to be hers.
Silas.
He rounds the corner with a hoodie pulled over his head, dragging one sleeve up to rub at his face like he just crawled out of the nearest pit of hell. His eyes land on me, narrowing in that older-brother way that always means trouble’s about to start.
“You good?” he asks, voice coated in suspicion.
I keep my gaze on the wall. It’s easier not to look at him. Easier to keep everything locked down when I’m not staring at someone who already knows too much.
“You ever want something so bad it makes your teeth ache?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You mean like caffeine, or are we talking about the new girl?”
I don’t answer. My silence says enough.
He sighs, muttering something under his breath, then scrubs a hand through his hair again. “Jesus, Jasper. It’s barely been twenty-four hours.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I mutter.
“Right.” His voice is dry. “You’re doing everything but, and you know it.”
That gets me to look at him. Just barely. A shift of my head. A glare.
“You saw how she looked at him.”
“I saw how she looked at you five minutes later.”
That pulls something sharp and crooked out of me. A grin, maybe. Or a warning.
Silas doesn’t flinch. He never does.
“Look,” he says, voice dropping, “I’m not here to tell you what lines to cross. But don’t break her. You want to tear the guy apart, fine— he deserves it. But her?”
I shove off the wall. “I’m not gonna break her.”
He narrows his eyes. “No?”
I shake my head slowly, as if the words themselves are a vow.
“I’m going to remake her.”
Silas mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like ‘you’re fucking terrifying’, but he doesn’t push.
Instead, he starts down the hallway again.
