Page 125 of Manic

“I—” I sighed, my shoulders sagging. “Four.”

Manic crowded me, and my breath hitched as tobacco and spice and aged whiskey drifted by. Rugged scents I wanted to drown in. I craned my neck, studying the snowflakes dusting his lashes as he peered down his nose with a soft smile. I held back a shiver.

“What number did you become angry?”

“Six.”

“Mm.” He cradled my face and leaned in as his thumbs swiped my cheeks. “And what number did you hope they wouldn’t show up, and I did instead?”

The question had my chest sharply rising on an inhale, because at one point in those five years, I’d scheduled dates for the hell of it, wondering if he’d eventually show up. Only I’d grown more and more disappointed after each one. I sighed again, my resolve slowly wavering.

“Seven,” I admitted.

My heart thundered so violently, I felt my pulse beneath his palms. Warmth spread over me as his mouth turned up, his expression soft yet knowing. He knew I liked him then, and he knew what I refused to voice out loud now.

Manic skimmed a finger down my jaw, branding a path of heat until it rested on my chin. The touch was soft and light, like I was something capable of breaking.

“You can’t love me,” I said again.

I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince myself or him. Maybe both. Would it be easier to let him go if I knew he couldn’t love me? A part of me wanted that answer to be a yes, but deep down, I knew that letting him go, whether he cared about me or not, would surely break me.

And I hated myself for it.

I hated him for it.

I hated everything about this situation, because once I left—to Dmitri or my parents or wherever—it would mean I’d have to let him go.

“You hate me,” I blurted, my voice shaky.

“I’m obsessed with you.”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I emptied the gun.”

He what? I blinked, my breath stalling as the words balanced between us. The weight of them sat on my chest, and I lost all capacity to form a single thought.

He’d emptied the gun?

“You’re mine,” he said, leaning closer. “Believe it or not, you’re the only person I care about.”

“Maybe that’s true,” I said. “But that doesn’t make Dmitri go away. That doesn’t make your father go away.”

“I need you to trust me. Will you trust me?”

Trust. I searched his face, my forehead wrinkling.

Noah had said the same thing the night my blade ended his life, and if I had just taken the chance, then maybe I wouldn’t be here right now. Yet some part of me was thankful it ended the way it did, because even though I hated this situation, it brought me to Manic.

Tears pricked my eyes as I whispered, “I don’t want to trust you.”

“And yet you do.” He grinned, and my lip curled.

“I hate you⁠—”

His mouth slammed into mine, stealing my lie, my breath, and my will to stand. Our bodies smashed together as he curled an arm around my waist, and my knees ungracefully gave out.

I wanted to fight him, to pound my fist against his chest again and put distance between us. I wanted to hate the feeling of him against me, but as his mouth moved over mine, his tongue licking the seam of my lips, my body couldn’t help but liquefy.