Chapter 16
The Wildfire Thorn
The things that provoke you to react are often called triggers.
The list of my triggers has always been long. So long that I’ve them put in two separate categories. The one that’s I’m facing right now is number five on the high concern list: losing focus.
My queen is trapped.
I don’t think I can save her. I could, two moves ago, but now all hope is lost. And it’s because I wasn’t paying attention.
These days I often find myself in a position like this.
I forget meeting notes. I find myself staring out the window instead of paying attention to the plays. Sometimes I’ll start a sentence and then completely forget where I was going with it. The other day I overfilled my water bottle at the water fountain twice before giving up and grabbing a soda from the vending machine. I run into people while walking as if I’ve forgotten how to walk.
And whenever something like this would happen, I used to panic.
I used to withdraw into myself.
I used to think that the world was going to end.
That I was going to do something to make it end.
These days though, I think about her.
My grounding object.
Her shiny hair on the pillow. Her skin when the sun hits her. Her small fingers when she tries to catch the snow in her hands. My jackets on her body that always tend to drown her. Those two dimples on her back that I’ve licked countless times, that mole, the crack of her gorgeous ass.
Her languid eyes when I’ve made her come. Her eyes when she sees the rose on her pillow. Her eyes when she feeds it to me, all joyful and lusty. Her eyes when she laughs at something I’ve said that’s completely not funny like, can you shut the fuck up and let me suck your tits?
Her excited voice when she talks about her plays, her characters. The way she brings her character to life when we run lines. The way her features shine when she makes me watch her favorite movies.
Her excitement when I read to her.
The nape of her neck when I bathe her. The feel of her hair when I braid it. The feel of her mouth when I kiss it, when I fuck it. The feel of her pussy when she comes around my dick.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck, the feel of her sweetheart pussy when she flutters around my cock.
I could live in her pussy.
In fact, I do live in her pussy all night. I sleep with my dick in her.
It’s just something that I have to do.
It’s a need I can’t explain.
A need to not be separated from her.
Not yet.
And that’s the problem.
“Are you going to take your turn?”
I get pulled out of my thoughts by Homer’s voice and remember where I am: at The Horny Bard in Bardstown. One of my least favorite hang outs. Homer’s too actually so we’ve found ourselves a quiet spot, away from the crowd, and have a chess board between us.
I think we both like it because it requires minimum talking and structured thinking.
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my temples.
“Worried about the game tomorrow?” Homer asks, settling back in the chair.
We arrived back in New York a few days ago because this is it.
We made it.
We’re playing the championship game and this year, it’s happening in New York. The last few days have been grueling with practice and meetings and strategies and brainstorming late into the night. But today we’ve got a day off because tomorrow’s the big day and we all need it to decompress.
“No,” I reply.
Because that has always been the goal.
To not worry. To not stress or get involved.
Which is why I stayed in soccer despite not caring for it.
Homer eyes me curiously but accepts my answer with a nod. “Okay.”
I sigh again and confess, “I don’t really like soccer all that much.”
I expect the whole bar to stop talking.
I expect them to stare at me in disbelief.
I know it’s all very dramatic but what I’ve revealed is also pretty dramatic: the fact that me, a Thorne, isn’t really interested in something that’s our legacy. Something that I trained for my entire life. Something I chose to do for the rest of my life as well.
But it is what it is, and it is the truth.
Much like I confessed my biggest secret to Conrad, this one brings me relief as well. Just for the record, Conrad hasn’t looked at me differently since I told him about my issues. He treats me like he always did, like his brother, his right hand, a man that he can trust. I don’t understand how he could do that after knowing what I am.
Anyway, I don’t know if I should’ve sprung it on one of my good friends out of nowhere though. While it’s not a random confession for me—something about keeping secrets from her is taking its toll on me now—it may seem like to him.
This time Homer keeps eyeing me for a long time. Then, “Well, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”
I give him a look. “Is that all you’re going to say to me?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
I settle against the back of the chair as well. “I don’t know, how about, what the fuck or this is unbelievable or how the fuck do you not like soccer when you’ve dedicated your entire life to it.”
Homer settles himself further in the seat, sprawling his thighs, smoothing his suit jacket. “You can absolutely not like things that you’ve dedicated your entire life to. I don’t like my job, my company that I was groomed my entire life to take over either.”
That gives me pause.
Because I thought he did.
Because that’s what he’d talk about back in high school. He’d talk about going to business school, taking over his father’s company one day. He was pretty fucking jazzed about it. He quit soccer for it too.
“You,” I begin carefully, “don’t like working for your company.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
“So why do you do it?” I ask.
“Why are you in soccer if you hate it?” he asks back.
Because I’ve got a shitty father with anger and addiction issues who used to beat our mom and often times our big brother. Because I got that gene from him and I don’t want to be. So I try to lead a life away from all stimulation and excitement lest I can’t handle them. I try to lead a life of safety and control lest I succumb to temptation and become like him.
And because soccer was the only way to stay close to my family. The family that I couldn’t stay close to any other way.
Anyway, since I can’t say any of these things, I simply stare at him.
And he stares back.
And a look of mutual understanding passes between us.
I guess we both have our secrets.
Then, he goes, “So where’s your head at, if not on the game?”
“On her.”
Again, I don’t think I should’ve sprung it on him like this. Especially after how he witnessed my fight with my brother. But it’s also something I’ve been wanting to say for the past few weeks.
Because I hate the fact that I have to hide it.
I hate the fact that I have to sneak around with her. That I can’t hold her hand in public. That I can’t make her smile in public or make her laugh. I can’t even look at her in public. Although I’ve broken that rule many times but yeah.
I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate that I can’t go up to her and ask for her hand to dance. Although I know nothing about dancing. I fucking hate that I can’t go up to her and bend down on one knee and offer my ring.
“Your brother’s girlfriend.” Then, raising his palm, “His fiancée now, I hear.”
The ring that sits in my pocket makes itself known.
As fucked up as it is, I always carry it around. Probably because I don’t want it to end up in the wrong hands. Or wrong fingers.
Wrong fingers being her.
As I said, I know it’s fucked up. She’s going to wear his ring sooner or later. I want her to wear his ring sooner or later. I want her to get everything that she wants. I want her to be happy. I want all her dreams to come true including the one about love. But I can’t bring myself to give it back to her without doing some serious damage to someone.
To my twin brother specifically.
Who sits at the top of my trigger list.
While it still looks like I can handle most of my triggers, he’s the only one who makes me angry. The thought of him with her is the only one that makes me agitated enough to bring on my bad days. The thought of her wearing his ring is the only thought that seems threatening enough to send me on a warpath.
So I’ve taken to keeping it on me at all times. It’s better this way.
I’m under control.
My brother is safe.
The fucking ring is off her finger.
“She loves me,” I tell him.
Yet another confession and the one I’ve wanted to make the most.
It’s also the one that gives me the biggest relief.
“She,” Homer begins, shifting in his chair, “loves you.”
“I’m fixing it.”
“You’re fixing it?”
Yes.
I am.
And I mean it now more than ever.
More than when I’d said the same thing to Conrad a few weeks back.
Because not only is she my grounding object, she’s also the one who’s given me a chance to see a different life, hasn’t she?
A chance to live it for the past few weeks.
With her.
Even though we live that life behind closed doors and in the darkness of the night, it’s still a life that I hadn’t seen before. A life that I never thought would be possible for someone like me: fucking, taking a bath, reading, talking, laughing. Watching her favorite movies, drinking tea. Eating roses, catching snow.
I’ve laughed more with her than I’ve done my entire life.
I’ve read more with her too.
And therein lies the fucking problem, doesn’t it?
That I’m starting to believe that this temporary life could be real.
That maybe I could really live a life like that with her.
I’m starting to believe.
That everything will be okay. Despite my demons; despite the fact that I can’t give her all the things she wants and needs, I’m starting to believe that I could have it all.
Even though I don’t deserve it.
Turns out I haven’t changed at all, have I? Because like before – when I was blackmailing her and was ready to ruin her happiness just for my selfish need – I still want to do the same.
I’m still dangerous to her.
“Yes,” I reply back to Homer who’s once again looking at me with curiosity.
“Why?”
My chest feels tight. “Because she deserves the best.”
“And you’re not that?”
“No.”
“Shouldn’t she get to decide that for herself though?”
“She should,” I say gravely, my chest feeling tighter by the second. “Just not this.”
And that’s why the time has come to finally have a talk with my brother.
Time has come to finally sit him the fuck down and have a proper conversation with him about his intentions toward her. A girl doesn’t just become your fiancée if you put a ring on her finger, no. You need to be there for her. You need to care for her. You need to actually fucking love her like he claims to.
Which, for all intents and purposes, I haven’t seen.
So after the championship game, we’re going to have a fucking talk and he’s going to get his fucking act together.
Homer hums. “Not sure if that’s the right move though. Girls generally don’t like to be told what to do.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And you have a lot experience with girls.”
He shrugs. “It’s just what I hear.”
“Is that why you’re stalling,” I give him a pointed look, “your own wedding? Because from what I hear, the bride-to-be seems pretty eager for it.”
That was kind of a low blow, I admit.
Because it’s one of the things he doesn’t like to talk about. In fact for as long as I’ve known him, he hasn’t wanted to talk about how his father – before his death – had arranged his marriage with one of his friends’ daughters. Maple Mayflower, I think her name is. He was fourteen and she was barely out of kindergarten but their families thought it was okay to decide their future without their say so.
I’m also aware that now that they’re both of age and should be married, he’s the one who’s putting it off. Although like his dislike of his job – something that I found out today – I don’t know the reason for it. I mean it could be he’s pissed at his father for dictating his future in this way.
But I think there’s more.
I have a feeling.
I also have a feeling that he doesn’t dislike Maple or is unaffected by her like he wants everyone to believe. Maybe because I’m good at reading people but I know that every time Maple’s name was mentioned, back when we were in high school, he’d get a look in his eyes. A look that said that there was something that he felt.
In any case, it’s none of my business.
And I shouldn’t have brought it up.
“Touché,” he says, once again choosing to keep his secrets to himself like me.
Sighing, I admit, “Sorry for dragging you out here but I’m not feeling like chess anymore.”
He nods. “Me neither.”
“You headed home?”
“Office.” He shrugs. “Got some paperwork to do.”
“My sympathies,” I quip.
His lips twitch. “You off to watch some more game tapes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, mine too then.”
With that, he gets up from his chair and leaves. And I do the same.
I shouldn’t be in Bardstown at all.
The reason I came was because this was the one night I had off and I wanted to be in the same town as her. And the reason I chose The Horny Bard was because she’s always telling me to get a life, to go hang out with the guys, my twin brother, and he’s here. Not that I’m going to actually mingle with them or that she’ll ever know I’m doing something that she wants me to do, even if the bare minimum of it but still.
It somehow makes me feel close to her.
And that’s the only way I’ll let myself feel close to her.
Because I’ve already put the plan – of finally giving her what she deserves – into motion. Ever since we came back, I’ve started to withdraw from her. I have to be in New York for the team and she had to come back to Bardstown because of her classes. So we already are in different places.
We touch base every night though. But only because I made a promise to her.
On the night of her engagement when I found out about her mother’s abuse.
I have to take a breath and think about her twinkling laughter over something I read to her the other night in order to calm myself. In order to not hunt that woman down and choke the life out of her.
Every night I call her around the same time, and I make sure that she’s okay. I make sure that her monster of a mother hasn’t gotten to her.
So far she hasn’t and she’s not going to either.
Because when I talk to Shepard after the game, I’m going to tell him about her mom and we’re going to figure out a permanent solution to keep her away from her mother.
I’m almost out at my car in the bar’s parking lot when I see something that sucker punches me in the center of my gut.
My twin brother.
With a girl.
A girls that’s not her.
He’s at a random truck and he’s got a girl pushed up against the door. He’s bent over her and no, they’re not engaged in anything illicit but from the looks of it, they want to.
Or at least he wants to.
He’s awfully close to her, looming over as if he wants to engulf her. Looking at her as if he wants to eat her alive.
I know. I can understand.
Because I look at her the same way.
I look at his fiancée the same fucking way.
The fiancée he is clearly not doing any of these things with.
The fiancée he claims to love.
Even though I understand what’s happening, it still takes me a couple of seconds to find my bearings. It takes me a couple of seconds to recognize the roar in my ears, the tightening in my gut. The heat on my skin.
It’s been some time since I’ve felt that.
Since I’ve felt the dissociation from the world like this.
Where everything is disappearing and turning foggy except this rage inside of me.
Where my heart races and races like a hurtling train and I don’t recognize myself or anything else around me except the thing I want to destroy.
“What the fuck,” I growl.
They break apart at my voice.
My brother looks annoyed like he wasn’t expecting the interruption. But once he realizes who it is, his face clears of that emotion and I watch as shock and a tiny amount of guilt flashes through his face.
It lasts a second, that expression, until he goes back to being his cocky self.
As he steps forward and situates the girl behind his body. Somehow, I’m able to tear my eyes away from him to glance at her. Only because I want to know who the fuck is she.
Who the fuck is he fucking around on his fiancée with.
Only to realize that I know her.
She’s one of our sister’s friends, the redhead. I’ve seen her around at family get-togethers. She also sometimes works on the waitstaff for the team events. Although I can’t remember her name.
“Look, you need to –” Shep begins.
My gaze snaps back to him and my fists curl. “You fucking around with our sister’s friend?”
His jaw clenches. “It’s not what it looks like. It’s –”
That gets me.
His casual statement.
The statement that people make when they know it is exactly what it looks like.
Before I’m aware of it or think about it, I’m on him.
I grab the collar of his jacket and fucking shove him back against the truck. I hear the redhead scream with alarm. I can also hear her voice in the background, agitated, scared but that’s as far as I can be conscious of things.
Right now, it’s me and him and this fucking wildfire in my veins.
Despite being in a chokehold, Shepard turns his head to the side and commands, “Go.”
“But you… He –”
“Jupiter,” he says gravely. “Leave. Now.”
I don’t wait to find out if she obeyed him or not. I pull at his collar, causing him to jerk his eyes back to me. “Does she know you’re engaged?”
“She’s none of your business. She –”
“You know, of all the things that I thought would finally make me break,” I say, twisting and twisting his collar, my body feeling too hot to exist right now, “Of all the things that I thought would finally make me snap and beat the shit out of you, I didn’t think it would be this. You with a random girl like you always are.”
Finally, he gives up all pretenses too and goes for my fists on his jacket. He grips my hands, trying to get out of my hold. “You keep her out of your fucking mouth, or I will break it.”
I want to laugh.
I’m not a person who sees humor in things, but this is hilarious.
The fact that my twin thinks that he can break something on my body.
But then again to be fair, he doesn’t know the depths of my dark need. He doesn’t know exactly how long I’ve kept myself under leash. He doesn’t how long I’ve pushed and pushed this anger down.
“I almost want to warn you,” I say, pressing his spine harder against the truck, watching pain flash through his features. “I almost want to tell you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into. But I’m not going to. I think it’ll be more fun if you find out the hard way. What happens when you fuck around on your fiancée that you claim to fucking love.”
Again anger flashes across his features. “I think we both know who’s fucking around here.”
“You –”
“I know, all right,” he declares, his hands still on mine. “I know you’re fucking her behind my back.”
His words make me go still.
They bring the roar in my ears to a screeching halt. It subsides the burn, the heat in my body. It brings the world into focus a bit. I watch Shepard struggle against my hold almost dispassionately. I watch him wanting to get free but I don’t let go.
Instead I ask, “How long?”
He pauses, panting. “Always. Since day one.”
“It didn’t…”
“It didn’t what?” he asks, taunting me. “Didn’t mean anything? It wasn’t what it looked like?”
“No,” I say. “It meant everything. And it was exactly what it looked like. But it didn’t…” I take a breath and confess truthfully, “It didn’t feel wrong.”
He watches me for a few seconds. Then, in a low voice as if he almost doesn’t want to, “This, what you saw, doesn’t feel wrong either.” I tighten my hold on his collar and he goes, “So can you let me go now and fucking get off your high horse.”
Is that what he thinks this is?
That I’m on a high horse. That I have any morality left in me.
Even if I ever did possess a trait like that, which I don’t think I did, this isn’t about that. This isn’t about morals or rules or boundaries or fucking right and wrong.
This is about her.
This is about him betraying her. This is about him going behind her back, breaking her trust, breaking her dream.
This is about him breaking her fucking heart.
And no one gets to break her heart.
No one gets to hurt her.
“You fucking asshole,” I thump his back against the truck. “She trusted you. She trusts you. She thinks you’re her best friend. She thinks you can mend her heart. You can help her move on. She’s been beating herself up for everything she’s done to you. She’s –”
“Stellan, stop!”
For a few seconds I think I’m imagining her voice.
I think I’ve conjured her up in my head to ground myself. So I don’t do what I always want to do. So I don’t break my promise that I made to myself years and years ago.
But then I hear footsteps.
Running, urgent.
Followed by another plea. “Stellan, no. Don’t do it. Stop!”
And I notice Shepard’s focus switching to something over to the side, just off my shoulders. “Isadora, no.”
“But you –”
“Don’t come any closer,” he warns, shaking his head.
I keep watching him. I keep watching his face.
The concern in his eyes. The lines of worry around his mouth.
Is he…
Is he trying to protect her?
Her.
From me?
And the fact that he’s right to do that. The fact that I’m so fucking dangerous to her pisses me off even more and I jerk at his collar, demanding his attention back at me. I don’t want him looking at her like that.
Only I get to look at her like that.
With concern. With worry.
Like she’s my entire fucking universe.
Gritting my teeth, I get ready to lay one into him when I hear her again. “Stellan? Look at me.”
I don’t know why I’m not.
Maybe because as soon as I see her, I know, I know, my anger will vanish. If not vanish then it will take a backseat. My blazing fire will simmer down. My hurtling heart will race but in another way. In a way that’s safe, that gives me both comfort and excitement. She’s always telling me how I keep her safe but she’s the one who saves me just by existing.
And that’s the very reason I can’t let it go, see. I can’t spare him.
Not after what he did.
Not after how he hurt her.
He needs to learn that this isn’t how you treat the girl you love.
This isn’t how you treat my girl.
“Please,” she pleads again.
And fuck, fuck.
I can’t deny her.
I can’t deny her anything.
I still keep a firm hold on Shepard though as I turn my eyes toward her, and it happens. What I was afraid of, it comes to pass.
I almost come down on my knees, my body feeling weak at the sight of her.
She looks like a fever dream.
A hallucination.
Standing under the flood of yellow light from the pole, she looks like I made her up in my head. Her jet-black hair framing her face, going down her back. Her satin skin flushed from the cold. Her gray eyes luminous as she stares at me. And that dress, all white and all pretty.
She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
My girl.
My baby. My sweetheart.
Dora.
Do. Ra.
And Jesus Christ, she’s not wearing a coat again. It’s fucking cold out. It’s going to snow soon and she needs more than that flimsy dress she’s got on. Why doesn’t she get that even if she loves the cold, it will still give her frostbite?
Why doesn’t she get that she needs to be kept safe?
From winter.
From me.
From anything and everything that can ever hurt her.
“It’s fake,” she declares.
And I wake up from the trance that her sight always puts me in.
I frown in confusion.
Which she understands and taking a hiccupping breath, she explains, “The engagement. It’s fake, Stellan. Shepard’s not…. We’re not engaged.”
In the background, I feel Shepard struggling against me but I subdue him easily. He also says something, but I can’t make out his words.
I don’t want to make out the words.
All I want to hear is her voice. All I want to see is her.
So that’s what I do.
Wordlessly.
Frozen.
She swallows, her eyes glistening. “It’s not real. It never was. He was… He was trying to help me. He was trying to provoke you into being with me. He was trying to make you jealous and… It’s not real. He was lying. I was lying. I’ve been lying to you all this time and I know…” She shakes her head, swallowing again. “I know that I shouldn’t have. Not after the last time. Not after how much I hurt you. How much I tormented you and made you suffer. After how petty and immature I was. I… I know I shouldn’t have done it but I did it anyway. And I… I’m sorry, Stellan. I –”
Again, Shepard tries to say something, something about it being his fault I think but again I tune him out and keep him pinned to the truck.
And keep my absolute focus on her.
I keep my absolute attention on the girl who’s looking at me like I’m her world.
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was though,” she continues, keeping our gazes locked. “Because the thing is that even if the engagement was real, I would’ve broken it. I would’ve broken the engagement myself, Stellan, and that’s because I love you. I love you so much. I…” She fists her hands and widens her stance as if she’s preparing to fight. “And I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried so hard to not. I’ve tried so hard to move on from you. Mostly because of how I acted because of it. How painful it has been to know that you don’t love me back. How you’ve hurt me and lied to me and just… broke my heart over and over. And because I always thought that if someone’s your destiny, they aren’t supposed to hurt you. They aren’t supposed to make you cry or torment you or make you pine or make you long. For them. I always thought if someone’s your destiny, they’re supposed to be perfect.
“But I realize now that that’s not true. The very reason you are able to hurt me and make me cry and make me long and pine for you is because you’re my destiny. It’s because what I feel for you is unmatched and unparalleled. What I feel for you, I’ve never felt that for anyone. And I know that I’ll never feel it for anyone either. And the very reason I’m able to hurt you and torture you is because I’m your destiny. And I also realize that we’re not perfect. God, we’re both so far from perfect that…” She chuckles, her eyes shining like heartbroken diamonds. “And that’s okay. Because you’re perfect for me and I’m perfect for you. Because the flaws you have match the flaws that I have. Because the things that make you good are the things that make me good. We’re a match, Stellan. I’m fire and you’re wildfire. We’re the same.”
A tear rolls down her cheek.
A lonely tear.
A tear that stokes the fire burning in my gut.
“And I know you think you have to give me every desire of my heart. I know you have to give me every dream that I’ve ever dreamed but… I don’t want that, okay? I don’t want it. I don’t want love. It’s okay if I don’t have it if I have you. I can live without love. I’ve done it my entire life. But I can’t live without you. I don’t know why you’ve pulled back from me this past week and I…”
She sighs again. “Maybe it has to do with the fact that you think Shepard’s the right guy for me but he’s not. You are the right guy for me. You. And I know you have a secret, okay? I know. I know there’s something inside of you that torments you. That gives you pain. That makes you have bad days and I know you have bad days even though you’ve never outright told me. I can read the signs. I know you think that the thing inside you makes you dangerous. It makes you unfit and wrong. But it doesn’t. God, Stellan, it does not, okay? Whatever it is, whatever secret you have, whatever it is you think is wrong with you, I can handle it. I can face it. I can deal with it. And I’ll do it with you, see. I’ll hold your hand and we’ll deal with it together. So let me, please. Let me be there for you. Let me be with you. Let me just love you, Stellan. And you don’t have to do anything in return. If you think love is childish or if love is a threat to your control or whatever it is that’s holding you back, just… just let it go. Just let me love you, okay? Because I will always love you. No matter what. Just let me love you.”
She’s crying.
Tears are streaming down her face as she stares at me with pleading eyes. As she stares at me like her life depends on it.
On me letting her love me.
And when I don’t say anything, when I stand there like a paralyzed moron, she goes, “God, Stellan, say something. Just… if you’re mad at me for lying to you, just say it. Just get it over with, okay? Just… So we can move on. So we can,” she licks her lips, “talk about this. Just let Shepard go.”
And I want to.
I really do.
I don’t even care what he did. I don’t care about his lies, his provocation. I don’t care that that’s what he’s done his entire life. Suddenly it seizes to matter.
Especially in the face of something else.
The fact that she lied too. And it makes perfect sense that she’d do that.
She’s in love, isn’t she?
She just told me.
She’s been telling me for weeks now.
Love makes you lie.
Love makes you do crazy things.
Things that you’d never thought you’d do in a million fucking years.
Like when a girl flirts with the twin brother of the man she wants to make jealous. When she lies about the whole relationship with the said twin brother.
Like when a man deceives that girl for weeks on end, pretending to be his twin because that’s the only way he can bring himself to get to know her. When he blackmails her all because he wants to touch her once. And when he realizes that he can’t hurt her that way, he makes up excuses to touch her anyway under the guise of helping her move on.
It makes perfect fucking sense.
Because I have done the same.
Because I’m in love with her too.
Holy fuck.
I love her.
I’ve always loved her.
Since the moment I saw her.
She’s right. That’s why it hurt so much, seeing them together. That’s why it tortured me and tormented me. And I’ve denied it. I’ve ran away from it. I’ve hidden away from it.
But it’s here.
Standing in front of me: my reality.
I’m in love with Isadora Agni Holmes. The girl with the kind of fire to melt me. To make me forget my rules, my morality.
My Lolita.
Who just said that she can handle my secret.
Except she has no clue what my secret actually is.
And she should, shouldn’t she? She should know the man she’s in love with. She should know the man she’s so ready to give up everything for, her happiness, her dreams.
Because as I said, no one gets to hurt her.
Not even me.
And if this is the way to keep her safe, then so be it.
So I turn away from her and look at my brother. I think he’s been staring at me this whole time, his eyes grave, his features graver.
But there’s something there.
Something akin to resignation.
As if he knows what’s coming and he’s accepted his fate. As if he knows why I have to do this: for her.
Good.
That’ll make it easier.
Twisting my fists in his collar, I say, “I’m sorry.”
He clenches his jaw and shakes his head once.
Before I lay my first of many and many more punches.