Page 87 of Dark Knight

“Watch it,” he snaps, turning his head to glare at me.

“Fuck you. You don’t tell me how to speak. You tell me how to do anything, not ever again. Not when you can stand there and pretend I don’t mean anything to you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. You’re showing it. You would rather jump whenever my father snaps his fingers than admit there’s something you want.”

“If that’s how you want to see it, be my guest.”

“That’s how it is! He decides he wants me back, and you’re all set to pack me up and send me away. Despite that, you had to get one last screw in first. Right? You had to use me one more time.”

“I wasn’t using you.”

His bare back and shoulders move with every measured breath he takes. I could kill him. I could sink the biggest knife in that block into his back and smile while I did. He can’t do this to me. He won’t. I’m not going to let him.

I don’t have a choice.

I hate the hot, bitter tears welling in my eyes at the thought. I have to have a choice. I must! They can’t make me. I’m not a child.

I can’t believe what I’m thinking. Am I really throwing a hissy fit because I have to go home?

“This is so damn unfair.” I swallow back the emotion clogging my throat. “If you knew this was happening, why couldn’t you tell me? Were you that afraid?”

“I was not afraid,” he grunts. “I didn’t wanna deal with this. Satisfied? I knew you would pull this shit, and I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Because it’s all about you. Once again, you act like this was all for my sake, but really, all you can think about is yourself. You knew this would hurt me, and I would be confused, and you still chose your comfort.”

“You’re wasting time.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“And I think everything’s about me?” He barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he turns to face me again. “It’s all projection with you. That’s all. You accuse me, but you’re the one who can’t think beyond herself for more than half a minute before she starts wondering what’s in it for her.”

“That’s not true.” Is it? No, it’s not. He’s trying to hurt me and make me hate him. That has to be it. It must be. How could he hold me so tenderly and make love to me, then turn around and act this way if it isn’t all a front?

“Whatever you want to believe. I really don’t care. I’m exhausted. You’ve exhausted me.” He turns away again to finish with his stupid fucking coffee, like that matters. As if it’s more important than how my world is crumbling around me while all I can do is watch it fall apart.

“You’re a coward. You won’t even look me in the eye.”

“Would it make you feel better if I did?” He slams his palms on the counter before turning and giving me a look that just about freezes my blood. I can imagine him looking that way before he murdered Kristoff. Cold, hateful, dangerous. “Satisfied?”

“Honestly, no.”

“That is such a surprise. You’re so easily pleased most of the time.” He chuckles bitterly, shaking his head.

“You think I don’t know what this is about. But I do.”

“Time is ticking, princess.”

Do not cry. Do not. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep a hold on myself. It’s not just the agony of being rejected. It’s the way I want to break him into itty bitty pieces for being so dismissive of my feelings. I want to make him hurt for that. I want to make him bleed.

Since I can’t, I go for the next best thing.

“You’re running away again. Things got too hard, and you decided to be a pussy. You can’t face your next-door neighbor, for God’s sake. You can’t have a conversation with Becky without her leaving in tears. You won’t try to make things right. You can’t face your old friends. You’d rather turn your back on everybody who ever gave a shit about you, because you’re too afraid to do anything else. Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead. Lie to my face.”

His jaw ticks, but there’s still nothing but blankness behind his baby blues. “You feel better now that you got that off your chest? You know, it didn’t have to be this way. We could’ve had an adult conversation about this if you hadn’t thrown a tantrum. All you’re doing is reminding me of what I couldn’t stand about you in the first place. You have to have your way. Everything has to be exactly the way you want it. Forget everything and everybody else. What do they matter?”

“It’s all just a big excuse, Romero, and we both know it.”

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