Page 112 of You Were Always Mine
I rake both hands through my hair until my scalp stings, pacing harder. The images won’t leave—Tyler’s face at our door, the way she flinched like her entire world was about to cave in.
“She wanted to pretend? Forget?” I laugh, dark and hollow, smoke curling between my teeth. “I told her I’d find the cracks, didn’t I? Didn’t I? And there it was—written all over her face tonight.”
I punch the dresser hard enough that my knuckles split, blood smearing across the wood, but it doesn’t even register.
“She lied,” I snarl at the empty room, chest heaving. “And I’ll rip the truth out of her throat if I have to.”
I drag deep on the cigarette, lungs burning, staring at the ceiling like it’s laughing at me. My pulse is so loud I can’t hear anything else—just that steady thud, thud, thud in my skull, like it’s counting down to the moment I finally explode.
She lied.
Scar fucking lied to me.
I knew it from her eyes—the way they wouldn’t meet mine, the way her voice broke around the edges. She thinks she can hide from me, cover it up with trembling lips and fake innocence. Like I don’t know her better than anyone else ever will.
My laugh is sharp, ugly. “You think I can’t smell it on you? I can taste when you’re keeping something from me.” I grind the cigarette out against the wall, leaving a black smear like I’m branding the house with my rage.
Every nerve in my body begs to drag her out of that room, pin her down until she coughs up the truth—until she admits what I already know. That she’s been touched. That she let someone else put their hands where only mine belong.
My chest heaves. My fists ache. The blood dripping from my knuckles makes tiny red constellations on the floorboards.
“She’s mine,” I whisper hoarsely, leaning my forehead against the wall until it hurts. “Mine. And she thinks she can fucking lie to me?”
The silence swallows me whole. I can feel it cracking inside—the place where obsession rots into madness.
I pace the length of the room again, every step harder than the last, jaw clenched so tight it feels like my teeth will shatter.
Scar’s probably laughing with him right now. Tyler. His name tastes like poison.
She lets me touch her, lets me break her open in ways no one else ever could, and then she runs to him? Like I’m nothing but the dirty little secret she plays with in the dark while she saves her sweet smiles for someone else.
My chest is a furnace. My fists curl, veins throbbing like they want to burst. “You’re using me, aren’t you, Scar?” The words rip out in a ragged whisper. “I’m the monster you can blame. He’s the safe choice. That’s what this is.”
I slam my hand against the wall, pain flashing hot and sharp, but it’s not enough. Nothing’s enough.
Images rip through me—her lying under Tyler, giving him those shaky moans that should be mine. Her nails in his back. Her whispering his name the way she whispers mine when she breaks.
My vision blurs red.
“You think you can play me?” My voice cracks, low and dangerous. “You think you can take everything I give you, everything I bleed for you, and then hand your fucking heart to him?”
The thought makes me sick. Makes me want to rip him apart just for existing.
She thinks she can use me. But she has no idea—no one uses me.
No one.
I knew she was lying. I knew it the second her mouth opened, the second those wide eyes tried to sell me sweetlittle nothings. Scar’s never been good at lying—not to me. I see the twitch in her jaw, the way her throat locks before she speaks. I see everything.
She thinks she’s clever, thinks she can smile that nervous smile and convince me. But I know where her head is. With him. Always with him.
Tyler.
The name curdles in my chest.
I can’t get it out—the picture of her sneaking off, laughing at me, letting him touch what’s mine. It eats at me, gnaws at me like teeth in my skull.
She’s using me. That’s all this is. I’m the fucked-up fix, the dark little thrill she can bury and pretend never happened. And then she runs to him for safety. The normal. The love.
