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“Shut up, Evan. Don't you dare say that.” She genuinely looks hurt. My heart stutters at the sight. I've never seen her genuinely upset at me. Aside from her constant irritation and flippant anger. “I need a break.”
Without another word, she storms out.
23
HELLENA
“Hellena, wait?—”
“No! I’m sick of this.”
“God, you’re impossible!”
“Says the textbook definition of the word!”
“Hellena, stop!”
“No. I'm done for today. Give me some space.”
“I'm sorry.”
He’s never once truly apologized in the time I've known him. It doesn’t land very well now.
“You don't get to treat me this way and then just apologize. Choose the way you want us to be. Do you want to be friends? Do you just want to be my boss? Or do you want to be… something else?”
“This isn't easy for me either, you know?”
“Not that I could tell, the way you've been avoiding me.” Like it meant nothing.
It meant everything.
That’s what I want him to say. Instead, he glares at me, clenching his fists at his sides.
“Let me save you the trouble and make up your mind for you. I've already agreed to do the show. I want to do the show, but you and me? That's as far as it goes. We can get hot and heavy on that stage. You can touch me, we can get passionate in the song, we can let ourselves go as far as that takes us. But that's it. That's all I'll give you because I can't risk giving you any more.” My heart's hammering in my throat. I don't want to lay down this ultimatum. I don't want to say these things.
I do want to scream in his face, with its perfect shadow of stubble. It makes me nuts how much I want him. And how much more it hurts for him to ignore it.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” he skirts, always so fucking diplomatic.
“But it's clearly on your to-do list, isn't it?” There's no humor in my laughter, and I see his lips curl at my mocking tone.
He stalks in, glaring down into my eyes, not backing down an inch. “You think you know hurt?” I see the pain in his eyes, but I don’t want to acknowledge it.
“You don't get to tell me what I know. You don't know what I've been through, Evan.”
“Don't I? I know where you came from, Hellena. I know your real last name.”
“Oh, yeah?” How dare he. “Then you know what my life was like before! It was a living hell.”
“I know. I can relate.”
“So you say! But how would I know what you’ve been through, if you can understand? You never told me anything about yourself. You'd never let me in. I don't even know where you live. If it's here at the office or in some empty apartment. Sometimes, I feel like you just plug yourself in to charge at night like a fucking robot!” The insult rings hollow in the air between us.
“What do you want me to say?
“Nothing. Anything! Why can't we just talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
