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Instantly, she scrambles to shift out of the way. Nope. You’re mine now.
"Oh no. Don’t be afraid, Flower. I haven’t made you bleed… not yet.”
Panic sets in, and her struggle intensifies. I add pressure to her hand, the one with the glass in it. It has yet to break the skin, but it will soon.
"Wallflower..." I warn, squeezing her throat a little tighter.
She uses her other hand to bat at me, and her nails sink into my skin. The pain only heightens my pleasure. She did this to herself, to us. Her declaration was that she doesn’t want me, and that she never has. Well, I’m going to prove her fucking wrong.
I caress her plump bottom lip with my thumb, slowly loosening my grip on her throat. I watch as she sucks a ragged breath into her lungs.
As the panic recedes from her gaze, she still appears afraid, but somehow manages to lift her chin in defiance. "I'm not sorry.”
"I didn’t expect you to be. If this is the only way to lessen the pain you’re feeling, I'll let you plant that glass shard right in my fucking heart.”
There’s a shift in her gaze, a softening, and she flinches. "I don't..."
"I know you want me to feel the pain you felt, but this isn't you, Wallflower. You don't lash out in violence. You don't make others feel pain because you're hurting. Yes, I fucked up and hurt you in a way that no one else in your life ever has. I hurt you when you needed someone most, and I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time and change what happened, and I don’t know if I would. I don’t regret protecting you from my father." I try to keep my voice low and my tone gentle, but it doesn't help.
There's still this frantic energy about her, this need to run, and she jerks her wrists to escape me again, but I tighten my grasp. It might leave bruises, but she's doing it to herself at this point.
"Maybe you don't know me anymore. Maybe I’ve changed."
My lips turn up at the sides. She’s so fucking cute, trying to be this angry, vicious being when that’s not who she is. Bel is grace, kindness, sunshine and equality. But most of all, she is mine.
"Changing those parts of you would be like trying to change the most influential pieces of who you are. You're not the villain, baby, you aren’t a killer, and you aren’t a monster. Leave those roles to me.”
Her beautiful, full lips twist into a mockery of a smile. "Yeah...well...maybe I want to be those things. Maybe I don’t want to be the girl who sticks to the shadows. Maybe I don’t want to be the victim anymore. A lot of shit has happened recently. Like losing the only person who ever loved me. Or my entire identity being replaced with another."
I could spend an eternity apologizing to her, but it won’t change a damn thing. She’s not ready to forgive me, and I have to accept that, just as she has to accept that I’m not going anywhere. I lean in, crowding her, and run my lips over the shell of her ear.
Shivers wreck her body, and I love watching the goose bumps erupt across her creamy flesh. Her lip curls, and she snarls like a feral animal. Using the weight of my body and the hand I have held to my chest with the glass shard in it, she pushes against me.
I tighten my grip on her, and instead of putting distance between us, she merely presses the glass deeper into my flesh. A burning sensation zips across my skin, and I bite back a groan of pain.
Gimme your worst, Flower.
Her pretty emerald eyes catch on my chest, on her hand, on the glass, inching deeper into my skin with each heartbeat. Her frightened gaze widens, but she doesn’t make a move to pull away. It’s almost like the fear and shock have her frozen in time.
"Is this what you need, Flower? Will this bring you back to me?” I grunt and shift our combined grip even further forward.
The movement pushes the glass deeper, and while there is pain, this satisfying warmth encompasses me, making the pain nothing more than a dull ache. Blood continues seeping out of the wound, its warmth spreading across my soaked T-shirt.
I don’t care what I have to do to get her back. Pain is a momentary thing. If she wants to hurt me, then I’ll let her. I’ll do any-fucking-thing to get her back. Anything.
Full lips trembling, she looks like she might cry. Fuck me, she looks beautiful when she cries.
"No, stop…this isn't what I want." The words are a whisper in the wind, and nearly missed, but just because I hear them doesn’t mean I acknowledge them. If she wants to make me believe this isn’t what she wants, she’ll have to do a better job convincing me.
I squeeze her hand to the point of pain and press harder. The glass slides through more muscle, and I suck a breath in through my teeth. Tears swim in her eyes, and I swear my cock gets harder at the image in front of me.
"Drew, stop! This isn't what I want. Hurting you doesn’t fix anything.”
"Really? I think it does. You've talked to me more in the past few minutes than you have for the past month. I'll take a thousand cuts to my heart if it means you’ll stand here talking to me for five more minutes."
Her teary gaze leaves mine, and I see how close those tears are from cascading down her cheeks. The need to show her mercy overwhelms me, and I release my hold on her hand. Pulling away completely, taking the glass with her, the cut in my chest feels empty without something in it. The spot aches and burns with each labored breath I force into my lungs. Fragments of the old Bel shine in her eyes as she drops the broken glass on the ground.
She shakes her head like this is a nightmare she can wake herself up from. I watch as she unravels, her eyes catching on her hands, which are slick with my blood.
