Page 151 of Make Me Mean It

Because I know exactly what happens if he gets his hands on me again.

I fucking fold.

“Of course you don’t understand,” I breathe, shaking my head. “Why would you?”

His brows pull together.

“You’re getting everything you want.”

Connor, shakes his head. “That’s not—”

His hand comes up, reaching for me.

I move so fast I nearly trip over my own feet getting out of range, his hand hovering uselessly between us.

The hurt that flashes across his face almost breaks me.

“Theo.”

Fuck.

It’s quiet.

Small.

And every stupid fucking part of me reacts to it.

“Don’t.” My voice comes out hoarse. I swallow, but it does nothing to fix it. “Don’t say my fucking name like that.”

I shove my hand into my hair again, nails scraping over my scalp before my fingers knot there and pull.

My pulse is hammering against my throat, too fast, too fucking loud, and there’s pressure building behind my eyes that makes me want to put my fist through something.

I’m not crying over Connor fucking Reid.

“Fuck, Connor.”

A laugh tears out of me, broken somewhere in the middle.

My eyes burn.

I blink hard and keep looking at him anyway because if he wants this conversation so badly, then he can fucking look at what he’s doing to me.

“You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you?”

Connor recoils like I’ve hit him, his hand scraping over his jaw as he turns his face away from me. He can’t keep still. His weight shifts, his fingers drag through his hair, his eyes move everywhere except where I need them to stay.

On me.

“What am I supposed to do?” he shoots back, and his voice cracks, all that frustration finally pushing through the control he’s been clinging to.

Then his gaze flicks away again.

Over my shoulder. Across the street. Toward the houses around us.

Checking who might see.

Again.