Page 118 of Unorthodox
I stumble against my nightstand, and as Max gets closer, I reach behind me, grab the lamp someone put in here, to replace the one I ruined the night before everything changed.
Before I watched Dante die.
Before Max fucked me.
My fingers curl around the base of the lamp and I swing, ripping the cord out of the outlet. It swings around, too, and even though Max steps back from the lamp, the metal prongs of the cord whip against his face.
He blinks, taking another step back.
Both of us are momentarily stunned that I did any damage to him at all, but I don’t stay stunned for long.
I rip the lampshade off, drop it to the floor, and I come closer to him, swinging again, a guttural roar coming from my throat. The bulb bursts, bits of glass shattering over his suit, falling to the floor.
I flip the lamp, so the base hits him when I swing again. It connects with his shoulder, reverberating through my own arms, but he just laughs.
He fucking laughs, and I swing at him again, anger lighting up my blood, propelling me forward.
He lets me hit him over and over, still smiling as he does, the promise of violence in his eyes, but I don’t care.
I don’t fucking care.
I can’t stop.
Even when my arms are tired, even when exhaustion washes over me, even when I start to regret this, even when I realize it’s stupid...I don’t care.
I’m too far gone.
I’m too far past giving a fuck what this man wants.
What any man wants.
“Youleft me!”I scream at him, getting closer as he backs up, until he’s against the wall my bathroom is on. “You fucking left me!” With every word, I swing, and he takes it, his hands down by his sides as he watches me with amusement.
“Is that all you have, Addison?” he taunts me. “You really want to do this again?”
My chest heaves and I kick off my heels, putting myself on more balanced footing.“Fuck,”I swing again, the lamp colliding with his shoulder, “you.”I go for his face, and this time, he grabs the lamp.
This time, the smile is gone from his mouth.
I try to jerk back the lamp.
I give it all I have, using my body weight to dig in my heels, yanking it as hard as I can.
But he easily pulls it from me. He doesn’t throw it aside like he did last time.
This time he keeps it.
My heart picks up speed, and I retreat, fear instead of anger making my limbs tremble.
“You want to do thisagain?”he asks me again, his words quiet, tone cold. I think of the last time he hurt me, after I attacked him. Is this my fault?Am I doing this?But no. At the party, I did as he said.
Until he. Left. Me.
“It wasn’t my fault, Max. I didn’t know… And you said you wouldn’t,” I tell him quickly, my voice a whisper, my mind racing. “You said you felt b-bad and you—”
“Oh, I did,” he cuts me off, stepping closer. He throws the lamp against the wall, hard, the sound making me flinch. It falls to the floor and he walks closer. “I did feel bad.”
I hold up shaky hands, still feel where he slapped me at that house as my heart races. “Max, don’t—”
