Chapter Fifteen #3
He doesn't answer, and I'm not sure if it's because he's afraid of the answer, because he genuinely doesn't know, or if it's because he doesn't want to hurt me with the answer.
"I want to sleep," I mumble, tired of thinking. Tired of hurting. Just…tired.
He tucks a pillow behind my head, smoothing my hair off my forehead. For a second, I think he might kiss me, but he just sits there, watching me fade. The look in his eyes scares me.
I try to tell him not to do anything stupid, but my tongue is too heavy. The words won't form. All I manage to do is mumble incoherently.
"Everything will be fine," he says, his hand steady on mine, his expression shattered by something that might almost be love.
I'm not sure I believe him, but I drift anyway, the painkillers tugging me under.
The next time I wake up, my head throbs, my mouth is dry, and the sheets are twisted around me like I fought a war in my sleep. I think I have. Maybe I'm still fighting it.
It takes a full minute to realize I'm alone. The digital clock on the nightstand says 5:47 AM, but the bed is cold, Asher's side perfectly made.
I call for him, my voice a raspy wreck, but there's no response. Maybe he decided to go to work? I don't know.
I stagger to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and try to pretend the girl in the mirror is still in one piece.
She's not. My cheek is scraped, my lower lip split, and ugly purple and green bruises are damn near everywhere I look.
Unlike the ones Asher leaves, I hate the way these look against my skin.
They don't really hurt much, though. Mostly, I'm just stiff.
I pull on a robe, shuffle to the living room, and collapse on the couch.
The first thing I do is grab the remote. I need noise, something to fill the blank space where Asher's voice should be. The TV is already set to the local news, an early morning show playing. I don't change the channel, opting to get lost in someone else's problems for a while.
It takes me a minute to register the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen in bold letters.
BILLIONAIRE CEO ARRESTED FOR ASSAULT
"No," I whisper, my heart thudding unevenly. But even as I say it, I already know. I feel it in my bones.
A few seconds later, the anchor cuts to a live feed outside a Beverely Hills police station.
The reporter's voice is downright infuriating as she dives into the store with a smile on her face.
"Late last night, entertainment mogul Asher Blackstock was taken into custody after an altercation with actor Miles Andrews outside a popular Westside club… "
A blurry phone video rolls, full of camera flashes and shouts. I see Asher in handcuffs, flanked by two enormous cops. He looks… serene. Empty, almost, except for the trickle of blood on his knuckles and the unholy smile on his face.
"According to witnesses, Blackstock allegedly assaulted Mr. Andrews in an unprovoked attack.
Security intervened, but not before Mr. Andrews suffered a concussion and two broken ribs.
We're told the victim is expected to make a full recovery, but sources say Blackstock showed 'no remorse' at the scene… "
A cold fist closes around my heart. I can't feel my hands. I can't even breathe.
I want to scream, but all that comes out is a whisper.
"What did you do, Asher?"
I spend the next three hours on the phone, trying to figure out how to bail him out.
Liam gets me in touch with his lawyer, who calls only long enough to tell me that they have to wait for him to be arraigned before they can do anything.
He promises me that he's working on it, but promises don't help much.
By the time he's arraigned a little after noon, I'm crawling out of my skin. His bail is high—unreasonably so—but I transfer the funds to his lawyer without question.
The hours after drag. I pace the penthouse in slow, stiff circles, my hands twisting the sash of my robe until it's just a tattered rope of silk.
I watch the news on mute as the same three-second video of Asher's arrest loops endlessly between interviews with "industry experts" and people who've never even met him.
They talk about his reputation and his tendency to "go to extremes." No one mentions the scholarships he funds, the way he'll drop everything for the people who matter to him, or the way he holds me when he thinks I'm asleep and kisses the marks he left like a prayer for forgiveness.
They bring me up plenty, though. Somehow, they all know Miles was at the scene of my accident yesterday. They have plenty of photos of Asher and me together over the last few weeks. They're racing to connect me to what happened between them, like I'm some goddamn toy they're fighting over.
They mention our accident, too. They dredge it up over and over again, like they're trying to bludgeon the audience with the reminder that this isn't his first stint in jail or the first time he's been accused of injuring someone.
It's funny, though. Back then, the coverage was all about how Asher saved my life and deserved leniency. But I guess times have changed. Or maybe people have. They're not willing to give him the benefit of the doubt this time.
I'm not even sure I blame them. They may be asking what happened or how I'm connected, but I know. Miles upset me to the point that I stepped in front of a fucking car. Asher will never forgive that. He'll never forget it, either.
Just like then, I'm the thing ruining his life.
I set off a chain reaction of destruction that's so sickeningly familiar, it hurts.
And maybe that's the way it'll always be with us.
I'll ruin him, or he'll ruin me, and everyone around us will suffer the consequences.
Maybe that's our destiny—not to love one another, but to poison and destroy everything we touch.
My heart screams in defiance, refusing to believe it. But my head is a mess, circling around the same sad facts. And the facts are damning, leading me back to the same realization over and over again.
We can't keep doing this.
We can't.
I can't. He can't.
I try to eat, but everything tastes like chalk. I try to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see the moment they shoved him into the back of the squad car and guilt eats me alive.
It's after midnight when the elevator pings and the door opens.
He's alone.
He looks…bad. Not physically. No one gets the drop on Asher. But his suit is wrinkled, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, and his knuckles are raw and swollen. He moves like he's been running for a thousand years and only just realized there's no finish line.
He sees me sitting there, and for the first time in his life, he freezes.
"Hi," I say.
He stands there, just staring at me until I'm ready to squirm. And then, he walks to the bar, pours a triple shot of something brown, and knocks it back in one go. Only then does he turn to me.
"You bailed me out," he says. "Thank you."
I shrug, crossing my arms like that might help hold me together. "You're welcome."
He refills his glass but doesn't drink it. He just stares at the liquid, swirling it in a slow, hypnotic circle.
I want to scream at him. I want to hit him, or hug him, or both. "What the fuck were you thinking?" I ask instead.
He doesn't answer. He takes a deliberate sip, sets the glass down, and leans back against the bar.
"He deserved worse," Asher says.
"Jesus," I mutter, my stomach twisting even though I'm not really shocked. I don't think Asher has ever regretted a single thing he's ever done to hurt anyone who got too close to me. "You gave him a concussion, broke his ribs, and his nose, Asher. It's all over the fucking news."
"I warned him."
"You did," I say, pushing myself to my feet.
My legs are shaking, but I stand anyway.
"You always warn them. And then you do what you want anyway.
It doesn't matter if they heed your warnings or not.
You find a way to destroy them anyway. You don't care about consequences.
You don't care about anything except—" I bite my tongue before I can say it.
He lifts an eyebrow, his expression dangerous and calm. "Except what?"
"Except me," I say, quieter now, almost an accusation.
He looks away, and for a second, I see something like shame flicker over his face.
"You've been doing this since I was eighteen," I say, the words spilling out.
"Remember Jude? You dismantled his motorcycle because he was going to take me out.
Gregory at NYU? You destroyed his car and then wrote a fucking warning in blood on the windshield.
And then there was Pete. You had him arrested.
Then there was Alec, the guy whose company you now own.
And let's not forget Garrett, the photographer who flirted with me at the gala.
He probably hasn't had a job since that night.
Do you even remember their names, Asher? "
He winces before shrugging off the question. "Their names are irrelevant, Brielle. They shouldn't have tried to touch you."
"I'm not a thing you can keep in a fucking box!" I shout. "You can't just destroy everyone who scares you instead of dealing with your own goddamn feelings!"
His eyes snap to mine, hard and merciless. "Feelings?" he repeats, his voice pure ice. "Don't kid yourself, princess. This isn't about feelings. It's about respect. He disrespected what's mine."
"What's yours," I repeat, my voice trembling with anger. "That's all I am to you? A thing you own?"
He laughs, the sound cold. "Isn't that what you want?
You love it when I'm like this. You love it when I take control, when I make you beg, when I leave marks on your skin so everyone knows you belong to me.
You fucking live for the bruises I leave on you, just so everyone knows you're mine.
Don't pretend you don't, princess. You aren't innocent here.
You fucking love baiting the monster. You always have. "
I shake my head, tears burning my eyes. "You're right.
I'm not innocent. I've never been innocent, not when it comes to you.
" I cross the distance between us, close enough to see the blood drying in the cracks of his knuckles.
"But I'm not the one lying to myself, Asher.
That's you. You won't even admit what's really between us. You won't say it. You never say it."
He just stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge me or what I've said.
So I say it for him. For both of us.
"I've never wanted anyone else," I say, my voice shaking. "I flirted and teased and every fucking time, I prayed to God that me paying attention to someone else would be enough to make you finally, finally admit that you wanted me the same way."
"It's all a fucking game to you, isn't it?" he asks.
"I love you, you impossible bastard," I growl. "I never stopped. That's why I do the shit I do. Because I love you, and I've only ever wanted you to admit that you feel the same way about me!"
The truth lands like a bomb. Asher's glass freezes halfway to his mouth. His eyes go wide and wild. For the first time, he looks scared, like I've said the one thing guaranteed to destroy us both.
Maybe I have. I don't know anymore. All I know is that we can't keep doing this. We can't keep hurting ourselves and everyone around us like they're casualties in a war they never asked to fight.
I'm tired of being the girl who turned him into a monster.
I'm just so fucking tired of it.
For once, I just want to be the girl he lets himself love.
I need to be that girl.