Page 74 of Brutal Knight

He thought he’d hidden it from me, but I knew the truth. I always did.

"Did you ever think, as kids, that we would end up like this?" I asked him.

"Like what?"

"Enemies. Each of us digging to find the other's weakness so we can figure out how to make the other suffer the most."

He was silent for so long, I thought he might not answer me, and the stillness of the room made me hold my breath. If I could count to a thousand, maybe I could make myself so lightheaded I wouldn't care what Knight thought of me.

"I always imagined I would follow you to the ends of the earth," he finally said.

“You didn't even try."

His throat bobbed, brushing against my shoulder. "I thought it was better for you."

I didn't answer, because I wanted to scream and shout and cry, scratch and pound into his chest with my fists.

“It was never better for me," I finally choked out, trying not to show him how his words affected me, holding back everything I wanted to tell him.

About how my life had gotten so much worse.

The loss I felt when I realized he wasn't returning for me.

The empty hallowed out feeling in my chest, and anticipation of his call or email or message.

How every night I'd go to sleep, imagining I would wake up and he would be sitting on my bed, staring at me with those mischievous eyes.

The disappointment of waking up every day, the bed empty and cold.

Then, the new transition in my life, changing from hell to fucking torture.He hadn’t saved me when I needed it the most.

I’d always been a burden on Knight.

Growing up, I had no money, no friends. My parents were terrible.

I’d relied on him so much.

He brought the sun with him everywhere he went, and I was just the kid he felt sorry for. He’d felt so bad for me, he’d even proposed, even though he clearly hadn’t meant it—as he ran away as far and as fast as possible.

What if this was all it was?

I’d come to him at my weakest, and he was taking care of me again. God, I was an idiot.

My throat was full, my chest suffocating, my cheeks burning with shame. “Do you—are you…” I hesitated. “Is it okay that I called you? The other day, I mean, when I—when I was lost and confused. And you?—“

“Tati, stop. Of course, I want you to call me.”

“It’s just that.” I paused, unable to force the words from my lips.

“That what?”

A moment of courage… “I’m afraid…” before it petered out.

“Afraid of what?”

My throat was full, my heart flittering like a trapped bird in my chest. So terrified that he would look down on me. That he would lose all respect for me if I said the words out loud.

“Tati. Tell me.”

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