Page 88 of Petal

And then I see it.

Thereisblood, a dark spot soaking up Crone’s shirt a little lower than his shoulder. He touches the darkening spot with his fingers and rubs them together, as if a miracle has happened, then lifts his face to us.

He is smiling.

Fuck.

It’s not bad, it’s not bad, it’s not bad,I keep repeating in my mind.

He chuckles, his eyes wide in shock as he gapes at Callie.

“Are you fucking insane?” he rasps as he takes a step toward her, wobbling as he does. Then his face contorts in rage. “Are you? Fucking? Insane?” he roars, his gaze turning vicious.

He lunges at her. But I drop the gun and headbutt him.

All my pinned-up rage is in this move.

I’m not calculating.

I’m not pacing myself.

I ram into him like a bull. So hard that we both hit the boat railing, topple over, and plunge into the water.

The world around us disappears.

When we both emerge, the anger throws me toward Crone as my hands grab his hair and push his head down.

He is struggling as I am drowning him. We both go under. His punches hit my ribs, and I lose him, then try to find him, grabbing at the water.

But he is somehow quicker, suddenly right in front of me when I reemerge. He grabs my neck, then presses his hand onto his own wrist, pushing his arm into my face, pushing me down underwater. The fucking lock up—the move that I taught him that he now uses against me.

We reemerge, coughing and spitting the salty water out.

“Stop!” he growls as we struggle. He has no chance, not even using my moves against me.

We go underwater again, and I manage to wiggle out of his arms, then grab him around his waist, trying to get behind him.

It’s impossible without the ground under our feet.

We can both drown like this.

But hate is stronger than precaution. Rage even more so. Vengeance is the worst.

And I do it with the words.

We spit saltwater and pant as we pop above the water and splash as we try to fight each other when I pant, “You don’t deserve friends. Or anyone for that matter, Crone. That’s why you don’t have a family.”

I get a kick in my gut that makes me lose my breath for a moment. I go underwater, then reemerge, choking, my watery eyes searching for Crone.

He is about ten feet away, his arms and head above water, but he is just gaping at me, not making a move.

“You don’t appreciate people,” I spit out. “That’s why you keep losing them.”

It’s a low blow, but I want him to feel what I felt all these years.

He shakes his head. “Don’t, Droga,” he hisses.

But I don’t care.

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