Page 33 of Expressionate
I shrug. "I'm fine," Ireply.
"That wasn't my question," he says, "but I find it interesting that you responded withI'm fine." He enunciates my answer as if it's not exactly leaving a good taste in hismouth.
"What's wrong with that?" Iask.
"So many people answer with that‘I'm fine’bullshit. But rarely are they everfine."
"So what?" Iask.
"So, give me a real answer," Tax challenges. "What would you be if you weren'tfine?"
I look at him and I realize my lips are twitching. I'm shocked. What is it about Tax that's so damn hot that he melts away some of my ice without eventrying?
"You really don't like that word," I find myself teasinghim.
He scoffs. "What gave you thatidea?"
My lips twitch again and I actually have to fight back the laugh that bubbles up in my throat. I've never had to do thatbefore.
"Okay," I say moving back to his question. "You asked what I would be if I wasn'tfine?"
Tax downs half of his beer before the bottom of the bottle thunks on the bar top. "Yeah," hesays.
"I think..." I think that the only thing making me fine is the cold – letting it spread throughout me. I may be warming up because of him, but I can still feel that chill in my chest. The need to cut off my emotions and just exist as something wholly separate from it. Because emotions cause hurt, they cause pain. And that pain is all darkness, bottled up inside until it festers and infects. I don't want that. But what would I be, if I wasn’tcold?
"I think," I try again, "I think I'd beangry."
His placid gaze meets mine. It may seem calm and mild, but beneath that exterior, there’s the churning of ocean waters waiting for something – something from me? I wonder. "Oh?" he responds, "and why isthat?"
There's a moment, I know, where I can lie, and he'll accept it and turn away. He watches me as I battle withmyself.
Lie.
Truth.
Lie.
Truth.
Lie.
Truth.
10
Tax
After what feels like an eternity waiting for Love to answer me, she sighs, and looking away, she answers, "Angry iseasy."
I can agree with that. My anger is always there, simmering beneath the surface, primed and ready to do damage. Even now, I’m thinking about what I plan to do. Something that Cross and Blake would certainly not approve of which is why I’m leaving them out of it. The next time I fight, I’ll go alone. I’ll take the extra precautions I need to. I won’t let myself get jacked afterward. Maybe it means I’m fucked up. Maybe it means I’m dangerous. But the need to feel blood on my hands – to feel the control over someone else’s life is throbbing violently within me. Something I cannot deny. But for someone like Love, I wonder what has angered her. I down the rest of my beer and slide the bottle to the side as I turn and face herfully.
I have exactly ten minutes before I have to be back on stage. It will take a lot longer than that to cut away all of Love's thorns – hell, it will likely take years, but tonight is astart.
"Angry is easy," I say, "especially when everything angers you." I'm talking about a younger me – the kid cage fighter, the one I beat back and chained in a dusty basement in the very back of my mind only to be released when needed. Or so I thought. Lately, the craving to shove my fist through someone’s face has become more prevalent. It’s why I’ve got the secret fight comingup.
"I'm not angry at everything," she replies dryly, flicking a glance my way before her eyes move elsewhere. "I'm not even angry at most things," she admits, "justsomeone."
I stiffen, my gaze narrowing on hers. I lean forward, pushing her against the wall at her side, next to the front door of the bar. I settle a palm on the back of her stool, caging her in. Big eyes widen as she looks up at me. "Who?" I demand. I look her over, hunting for bruises, for evidence that someone has fucked with her. She doesn't know it yet, but she will be mine and no one fucks with what's mine. “Did someone hurtyou?”
