Page 101 of Cheap Shot
I don’t even register what I’ve thrown. A vase? A candle holder? Whatever it was, it’s in pieces now—sharp little reminders that something inside me has finally snapped.
The sound of glass shattering is the only warning before the room explodes. My chest heaves like I’ve been running for miles, but I’m not tired. I’mwired. My hands shake, and my vision blurs, narrowing down to only what's in front of me. Everything outside the rage is a blur of static and noise. I don't hear my name being shouted—just the roar in my ears, thick and pounding like a war drum.
“Stop! Cole, please stop.” The voice is distant, familiar, but I can’t stop.
Another crash—this time the lamp. I rip it from the table, the cord fighting back before it gives. I hurl it at the wall, and it explodes in a shower of ceramic and sparks. I don’t flinch. Ineedthe sound. The destruction. The proof that something’s breaking besides me. I don’t want to hurt anyone—but I do. I want someone to step closer so I have a reason to let this loose, all the way. I want to scream, to rip the world apart. Every second I try to hold it back feels like I’m bleeding from the inside out.
I slam my fist into the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. I hear the crack of drywall, the blood dripping down my hand, but it’s also faint—like it’s happening to someone else. The chair goes next—splintered beneath my boot. The drawer yanked out and flung across the room, the contents scattering like confetti at a funeral. Still not enough.
I turn and see myself in the mirror. And I hate what I see. My reflection stares back with wild, hollow eyes—like some feral animal that’s been cornered. I punch it without thinking. Glass rains down around me as I stumble back and drop to the floor. My spine slams against the wall hard enough to rattle my skull. I curl forward, elbows on my knees, fingers in my hair, trying to hold the pieces in.
“I can’t—” I whisper, but it barely makes it out. My throat is raw. “I can’t?—”
And then—silence. My body gives out, and I slide to the floor, shaking. Control it. Stop it.Be okay.It’s still inside me, clawing and screaming, and I don’t know how to shut it up. My whole body is a twitching, pulsing engine still running on fumes of fury, but the fire's fading. It always fades too late. I sit there, forehead against my knees, my body trembling as I fight to control it.
“I can’t—” I choke. “I can’t?—”
Control it. Stop it. Be what she needs.
But the voice doesn’t come again. A full minute passes, then two, but nothing. I drag myself up—hands bleeding, legs unsteady—and stumble toward the hallway. “Michele?” I call, voice hoarse. “Michele, I’m—I'm done. It’s okay now, just… please?—”
No answer. The only sound is the click of the bathroom lock grabbing my attention.
I run to the door, pressing my forehead to the wood before knocking softly. “Michele, baby. Please—open up. Talk to me.”
I sit there, ear pressed to the door, hoping to hear a sign she’s in there, but nothing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—I couldn’t let him talk to you like that. I snapped. I know I did.”
My chest is tight, my vision swimming.
“Please don’t shut me out,” I beg. “Not you. Not after everything.”
I sink to the floor, my back against the wall, fists against my eyes like they can hold back the heat behind them. My stomach turns to stone as my heart hammers against my rib cage again, this time for an entirely different reason. This time, it’s grief at the loss of the best thing to ever happen to me.
“Don’t leave me in the dark,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this if you don’t open the door.”
I’ve lost her. She can't love me—not after what just happened. Not anymore.
And when the silence answers me again, I let myself fall apart. She thinks I’m a monster. Maybe I am. Because this time, I might’ve finally broken the one thing I swore I’d protect.
Her.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Michele
Islam the bathroom door behind me and twist the lock with trembling fingers.
Click.
That tiny sound echoes like a gunshot in my ears—final, thin, barely holding back the tidal wave inside me.
I stumble back and press against the small vanity, my spine hitting the wood. It’s cold as I suck in a breath—too fast and shallow. My lungs won’t work. It feels like I’m breathing through a straw, like my ribs are bound in barbed wire, tightening with every panicked gasp.
The room tilts slightly, edges blurring as the floor sways in front of me. I’m panicking, I know it, but I’m helpless to stop it. I drop to the tile, curling into a tight ball as I bring my knees to my chest, arms locking around me as I try to hold myself together. I’m small again, invisible, trying to disappear into the grout lines. The tile is cool beneath me, grounding and merciless.
The towel from yesterday still hangs limply on the hook. The smell of my shampoo clings to the air, clean and soft—too gentle a scent for how violently I’m unraveling. A sob claws its way out of my throat as the sound of Cole’s voice comes through the wood—low, pleading, broken.
“Michele, baby. Please—open up. Talk to me.”
