Page 199 of Broken by my Bully
This feels like an interrogation, and I don’t like it one bit.
Bastian takes a deep breath and makes a right turn. We’re almost back at the strip mall where I left his Land Rover. “Because I thought you’d have more friends, Haven.”
I blink at him. “I’m not a people person.”
“Because you don’t like people?” He glances at me, his lips curving into a brief, sympathetic smile. “Or because you think they wouldn’t like you?”
I look away. “You seem to like me just fine.”
“You don’t have to be so defensive all the time. This is what friends do. They share things about themselves with?—“
“Oh, we’resharing?” I wriggle around in the seat, bracing myself. “Oh good. Then please, Bastian, tell me all aboutyourchildhood.”
He’s staring straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Come on. We’re sharing, aren’t we? Didyouhave a bazillion friends? Wereyouin the chess club? Cheerleading squad? Or have you been psychoanalyzing everyone since you were a teenager?”
“That’s enough,” he grinds out through his teeth.
“Oh, so it’s fine for you to pry, but Bastian Rooke’s past is a closed book?”
All the tension leaves his face. He lets out a soft laugh and pulls up the emergency brake so hard that my head bobs forward.
We’re back at the strip mall, right beside the Land Rover.
He’s still for a moment, head bowed, eyes unfocused. Then he turns to me, a polite smile on his mouth that makes the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up.
“We are nowhere near the stage where I feel comfortable telling you about my childhood.” He tilts his head to the side, frowning softly.
“Then stop pestering me about mine. We can talk about…sports, or something.”
But Bastian continues as if I hadn’t said anything. “You’re an only child. Your mother isn’t around anymore, and your father is unemployed. I’m assuming you’ve never had a stable home life. Probably a terrible one.”
Those quiet words feel like razors slicing into my skin. Nothing at all, then a sting that steadily grows sharper and sharper. When he grabs my hand and laces our fingers together, I flinch. When he squeezes, I tremble.
Not from fear.
From want.
From rage.
From how easily he sees through me, like I’m just a piece of glass.
“I can help you, Haven. But not if you keep pushing me away.”
He rubs his thumb over my skin, sending electric tingles through my body.
I want to slap him.
I want to kiss him.
I want to climb onto his lap and see that savage look in his eyes when I unzip him. But the last time someone promised to do me a favor, all they did was hurt me.
Again, and again, and again.
I grab his wrist, yanking my fingers out of his firm grip. My hand shakes as I swipe at the tears that race down my cheeks.
“I don’t need your help,” I spit out, fingers fumbling as I try to release the safety belt.
