Page 15 of His Hell Girl

What would it be like… to have someone love me like that?

But even as I ask the question, I know it is a moot point. I'm destined for a life of loneliness, and even more cruelty. Once Lina and Claudia are gone… I don't even want to think about that.

I take a deep breath, tryingnotto think about that, knowing that if I dwell too much on it, I'm just going to get more depressed. And why should I ruin my mood when these books make me so happy?

The yearning between the two leads is so palpable on page that my own pulse starts racing as I imagine them in an illicit embrace.

But since my lord is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

So intertwined they were that one could notbewithout the other.

I sigh deeply, trying to picture a faceless man embracing me too, whispering words of love in my ear and peppering my face with kisses.

It might never come to pass, but at least I can dream about it.

Eyes closed; I'm lost in this conjured fantasy when my book is violently snatched from my hands.

Startled, I whip my head around and come face to face with Cressida, a smug look on her lips as she's looking at my book.

"Give it back." I jump up, my hand grasping for it. But since Cressida is taller than me, as she raises her hand in the air, I have no chance of reaching it.

"After you embarrassed me in front of everyone?" She spits the words out, and for a second I'm rooted to the spot as I realize that for the first time, pure malice is dripping from her entire countenance.

"You brought that on to yourself," I add, jumping up to get the book.

Seeing me so desperate for my book, she starts moving it from hand to hand, enjoying my futile efforts to retrieve it.

With a disappointed sigh, I stop.

"Aren't you sick of this? Why do you always have to pick on me?" I try to appeal to her rational side, if she has one.

She just shrugs. "You're there. It's easy."

Not unlike what she'd said years ago, surprisingly, her words have no effect on me. I'd had enough time to think on everything and I'd realized that how she treats me is not a reflection of who I am, rather of who she is.

I'm not the problem.

"Then how about I make it harder," I say right before I jump again, taking advantage of her diverted attention to snatch the book.

She reacts a second too late, but as my hand moves with the book, her fingers catch half of it, pulling backwards until I hear a big rip.

We both stumble back, each holding half of the book.

Her expression is one of satisfaction, while mine is one of desolation.

My book…

I don't react for a good second. Not until Cressida continues her vile game by taking her half and ripping it further into shreds, the words I'd worshiped until a moment ago falling on the ground.

I feel a knot forming in my throat as I helplessly watch her stomp all over my prized possession.

Suddenly, all the years of torment, both mental and physical, flash themselves before my eyes. I remember how she'd pushed me around, hit me and cut my hair. How I still bear the scars of everything she's done to me and how I'd almost died at our last confrontation in this very place.

And suddenly, I'm done.

The torn half of the book in my hand falls to the floor with a thud. Not caring about anything anymore, I just pounce on her, my hands balled into fists as I take her unawares.

Her mouth forms an o just as my punch lands in her stomach, and she stumbles slightly backward. A harsh intake of breath and she's throwing punches of her own, aiming for my face.

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