Page 65 of His Favorite Color is Blood
For a moment, Misha stared at the sudoku. “Good. Good that you’ll think of everything, and you’re invincible.”
Grim stiffened, trying to stare Misha down with no effect. “Are you mocking me?”
“Sorry,” he said, which at least sounded honest. “I’m not in a good place.”
Grim relaxed and sat back on his heels, unable to shake off the overwhelming sense of anger at Misha judging him so lightly. It was as if Misha couldn’t see any of the good things Grim did for him and only focused on the negatives. But it wasn’t Grim who was running.
“Can we do it tonight?” Misha asked after a long silence, sliding his fingertips over the small pink scar on his stump.
“There’s a party tonight. We can’t just disappear, or the prez will be suspicious I’m going behind his back.” He watched Misha carefully. Would that cause yet another fit of passive-aggressive anger?
“I don’t have to go, right?” Misha inched away on the bed.
Grim grabbed the comforter. He would not simply take this. “Maybe if you hadn’t burned the flash drive, we could have already found Zero.”
That put a fire under Misha, as if he were struck by a match. “Oh, excuse me for trying to forget how I got my legs sawn off and trying to put years of abuse behind me!”
“Sure. That’s much more important than possibly saving hundreds of people in your situation.”
Misha reached out and slapped him.
He actually slapped him.
He hit Grim’s face with an open palm. It was such a shock to Grim’s system that for a moment he was too choked up to speak. He pulled in some air through his nose, staring at Misha while his cheek burned as if someone touched it with a hot iron.
“I’m not going to some stupid party,” Misha hissed and scrambled away on the bed, not daring to look up at Grim.
Grim laughed and massaged his cheek, following Misha with his eyes, even though the firm scaffolds of their relationship that he built up in his head suddenly seemed all-too frail. “I kill for you. I keep you safe. I feed you. I give you my undivided attention, but the moment I say something you don’t like, that’s what you have for me, you ungrateful brat?”
Misha hit the wall with the back of his head and hid his face in his hands. “Because you’re right. I should have kept that fucking flash drive, but I was too afraid to use a computer to even check what was on it. Fuck!”
“How is that my fault?”
“Because you’re so confident and brave. It’s as if all the bravery I had was in my legs. Zero took it, and I’m now this living, breathing bundle of fear, and I can’t help it.”
Grim took a deep breath. “I still don’t know how this made me deserve this.”
“I have to look at you and see everything I’m not. It’s not your fault, but I don’t feel good about any of this either.” Misha kept his face in his hands, as if not looking at Grim could somehow save him from the consequences of his actions. Or from the world around him.
“So you hit me because I’m so great that you hate me for it?” offered Grim, more deflated by the second. This was not how he imagined their honeymoon period.
Misha looked up with new fire in his eyes. “You were being spiteful.”
“No. I’m fucking disappointed,” said Grim and rolled off the bed. He couldn’t believe all this was coming from a boy who recently declared his love to him.
“You know I feel guilty over all these other people, so that’s where you hit.”
“Whatever. You can do your sudoku,” said Grim, replacing the old T-shirt with a new one.
Misha bared his teeth and grabbed the book. “And you can go to your party.”
Grim glanced back at him and stormed out of the room, slamming the door as hard as he could. He wanted to get smashed tonight and forget all about the sour qualities of his boyfriend. Ripping into the pedophile couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter 21
Grim
Grim couldn’t have beenmore on edge. As if a whole twenty-four hours without Misha’s affection was a droplet of blood in the waters, sharpening his appetite yet not letting him bite into anything. He could hardly believe he had so many feelings, and he didn’t want any of them. A part of him wanted to do anything to please Misha, and another tore him apart with anger for having those thoughts. Another was brimming with lust now that his attentions were welcome. Fuckingtorment. How could one little bird cause this much mayhem? The only answer he had was that his birdie was in agony, hurt and desperate. In that kind of state, even a canary could poke someone’s eyes out if they weren’t careful.
