Page 175 of Hexed
“Well, congratulations, Venesa.” He grips my wrists, and his touch burns like an iron brand. “Now you can live with knowing you’ve betrayedme.”
I try to move in closer to him, but he firmly holds me away.
“If I had known you back then…” I drop my gaze to the floor because suddenly it’s too hard to speak.
“I should kill you,” he says in a broken whisper, his grasp tightening until blood stops flowing to my fingers.
“So kill me.” I force the words out. “Do it. I won’t stop you.”
I won’t fight him off if that’s what he chooses. If it’s something that will bring him some closure—some peace.
The only problem is some wounds can’t ever heal.
Betrayal by a person you trusted.
The death of someone you loved.
Whether or not Enzo wants to admit it to me, I know what we have was real, even if it was for a short time. And he has a soft heart, gentler than mine. One that torments itself. And a part of me just knows that as angry as he is, as much as he might hate me…if he kills me, he’ll never forgive himself.
His eyes latch on to mine, and even though it hurts, even though it feels like pieces of my heart are being chipped away and falling into dust at his feet, I don’t look away.
His hands tremble against my skin, and water lines his lower lids.
Nausea crawls up my throat.
He drops my wrists, backing up several steps. “You’re not worth it.”
Then he turns around and walks away.
I’m frozen in place, a strange feeling mounting from the base of my stomach, up into my chest, and surging through my pores. This…pressure.
The elevator dings, and he’s leaving.
He’sleaving.
Even though I have no right to stay.
Slowly, I slide to the floor, my back against the side of the island, and I stare blankly at the oven, where our dinners sit, half plated and growing cold. My hand absent-mindedly reaches up and grips my seashell necklace like it’s a lifeline.
In a different life…
That pressure’s back, churning and building, and then something wet escapes the corner of my left eye, trailing over my lashes, down my cheek, and dripping off my chin.
I watch as it forms a small dot on the fabric of my shirt.
And then another.
And another.
I press my fingers to my flushed skin, my heart pounding faster and faster until it ruptures, like a dam breaking, water rushing over a dry landscape and engulfing everything in its wrath.
“See ya later, Lover Boy.” I hiccup softly.
And for the first time since I was a child, I’m crying.
It took me a while to get myself together and leave Enzo’s house, but I knew it was what had to happen.
He won’t want me there when he gets back, and despite everything—regardless of how my soul feels broken and bruised—I respect him enough to not stay and beg for forgiveness on something that’s unforgivable. I always knew this would be the outcome.
