Page 10 of Broken Pieces
I’ve been there.
Too many fucking times.
And that’s probably why she gets to me more than she should. Why my eyes stay locked on her even when I tell myself to walk away. Even when I grit my teeth and remind myself she’s nothing more than another girl. Another distraction. A mistake I can’t afford to make.
I drag another hit from my joint, holding it in until the burn claws its way up my chest. It scorches through me, a slow, crawling fire that does nothing to dull the pull she has on me.
She runs a hand through her hair, yanking it into that messy knot she always wears. A few strands fall loose around her neck, sticking to the sweat at her collarbone, and I can’t look away.
I run a hand down my face, trying to force her out of my fucking head.
I’ve had girls. Names that meant nothing. Bodies that meant even less.
Fake moans echoing in the dark because they thought that’s what they were supposed to do. Mouths spilling promises they assumed I wanted, desperate to be wanted back.
But none of it ever fucking mattered.
They came to me chasing danger. Wanting the thrill, not the pain. The edge, not the fall. They’d beg. Scratch. Moan my name and take every filthy thing I gave them.
But Skylar is different.
It’s the flash of her eyes that turns my chest into a fucking vice. One glance and I’m drowning in it, ready to tear the world apart to hear the sound she makes when she breaks.
And the worst part… She doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
It doesn’t scare me getting close to her.
It should. Any sane person would be running the other way by now, trying to carve her out before she digs any deeper. But I’m not sane when it comes to her.
I never fucking have been.
It only makes me hungrier.
Fuck this.
I’m not the kind of guy who waits around, bleeding in silence for a girl who doesn’t even realize she’s gutting me with every breath she takes. Every second she stands there, all unaware and untouchable, she carves a little deeper.
I shove myself off the ground, boots scraping loud against the concrete. My spine cracks as I straighten, every joint stiff from sitting too long in the shadows. Too long wanting something I’ve got no business wanting.
The stretch pulls at my muscles, chest tight, arms heavy, blood still thrumming with that slow, dangerous pulse she dragged out of me the second she showed up to this dump.
I flick the joint across the gravel, watch it spark, skip, and die in a curl of smoke. All burned out. Same as me.
I move toward her.
Every step soaked in intent. Gravel shifts beneath my boots, crunching under the weight of restraint I’m barely holding onto.
She hasn’t seen me yet. Her chin is tilted with that same don’t-fuck-with-me defiance, shoulders squared like she’s ready to throw punches at the next person who breathes too loud.
I take in all of it.
She’s chaos wrapped in calm.
Fury masked as silence.
The world around her dulls, edges fading out like even it knows better than to get too close. She doesn’t need to do anything to steal the scene.
She’s got no idea I’m watching. No clue that she looks like a fucking masterpiece, built from bruises, bite marks and broken rules from here.
