His shoulders bunched as he took a step forward. “You think you can guess how I got this? What I’ve done? Stop spinning your lies and fabricating stories. You’re so far off you’re in the realm of fantasy you’re embarrassing yourself. Do us both a favour and f**k off.”
His lips snapped shut. A metre separated us, keeping me safe from his seething rage.
Not once had he moved to grab or hurt me. Not once had he dropped his guard. All the while hating me for making him face the truth, he protected me by staying away.
Fatigue hit me and I sighed heavily. “You don’t trust yourself at all do you?”
He blinked at my whisper, so quiet after yelling.
My eyes met his, and I gave him a tiny smile. “Any normal person would touch and squeeze and manhandle each other in an intense argument, but you—you keep your distance. It’s not me you don’t trust—it’s yourself.”
He didn’t say a word, trembling in the wake of his terrible anger. Despite the colour flushing his neck and rage glowing in his eyes, he withheld his strict self-control. What would happen if I touched him? What would he do if I opened my arms and hugged him?
You’d die.
I knew it. As sure as the sun would set and rise again.
Silence fell between us, and my eyes dropped to his forearms. The jumper he wore had been pushed up, revealing corded muscle and scars.
Scars. Scars. Scars.
More than I could count. Some faded and silver, others red and healing. But it was the four straight and perfect lines seeping with bright red crimson that caught my attention.
I’d seen marks like that before. On another. I’d witnessed first-hand the fractured mind of an individual who sought pain to help remove the build-up of agony inside.
Clue was a self-harmer.
Over time, I’d helped her stop, but I would never forget walking into the kitchen one night and watching her drag a sharp blade over her skin. I’d shuddered in horror, but she’d breathed heavily in relief.
I hadn’t judged. I hadn’t said a word, but through friendship and support I helped her channel her pain into exercise and less destructive methods.
“You self-harm because you can’t deal with whatever lives inside you,” I murmured.
He choked on a swallow. Tense seconds ticked past before he took a small step toward me. His joints clicked from abuse past and new. Standing to his full height, he hissed, “Leave now before I do something I’ll regret.” His eyes flashed as he took another step toward me.
I stepped away, keeping out of touching distance. My anger came back swift and hot. Waving at him, taking in his furiousness, I growled, “You think you can scare me? You’re wrong. I’ve dealt with worse than you. You’re kidding yourself with your dramatics.”
Fox exploded from tightly coiled weapon to shrapnel bomb. “Get the f**k out! Now!”
“No!”
“Leave!”
“Not until you hear me out.”
“There’s nothing to hear!” He gripped his head, tugging his hair. “Leave now. Leave! Fucking go!”
Every survival instinct in me wanted to obey, but I’d pushed him this far. “I understand you, more than you think.”
He laughed manically. “You? Miss perfect—the woman who has it all? Don’t make me prove how ridiculous you are. You’re a f**king chameleon with your lies and secrets.”
Cocking his head, he stared harder, going deeper inside me than anyone had before. I didn’t like how weak and insecure he made me. I didn’t like feeling that my house of lies would come tumbling down at any moment. I didn’t like being a specimen under scrutiny. “You think I don’t see you? You have a past, same as anyone—but it’s darker. You’ve done things others wouldn’t understand, but it doesn’t mean you know me. I don’t trust you, Hazel Hunter.” Moving forward, he pointed at the door behind me. “I won’t ask again. Final warning. Get the f**k out and leave me alone.”
I’d pushed hard, but I didn’t win. I’d done my best. Backing away, I narrowed my eyes. “You want me gone, fine. But you owe me. You owe me for whatever connection sprang between us last night. You felt it—same as me. You forced me to agree to your terms as you couldn’t ignore the call. What if that connection was the one thing that could help you? What if I’m the one person you’ve been searching for?”
I hadn’t meant to say that. It was presumptuous. It reeked of high-handed righteousness. I didn’t know if he felt the same draw. The same strange pull.
He reared back, knuckles going white from clenching his fists so hard. “Who the f**k are you to think you know me? You know nothing. Nothing! I don’t need your help. I don’t need your cure!” His voice changed from unrepentant anger to a slight thread of confusion. He stressed the word ‘cure’, slipping from Australian accent to something guttural, foreign, something that suited him far more than the falseness of his Australian twang.
I saw the truth. Clear as day. Everything I’d said had been real. Everything he tried to keep hidden came to light. “I’m not the only one lying. You are.” I tilted my head, eyeing him closely. It was as if answers came to me from nowhere. Seeing through his shadows and secrets, latching onto small snippets of truth. “I think you’re hiding from something and live in fear every day.”
Fox bristled and seethed and stewed.
All the caring, stupid instincts swelled, hoping he’d crack, wishing he’d let his walls down. This man didn’t need a woman to warm his bed. He needed a psychiatrist. I didn’t want to be near someone so toxic, but I couldn’t walk away either. “You owe me to let me help you.”
Fear suffocated my throat as he seemed to grow larger, adopting an icy exterior that gave no hint of remorse or humanity.
I froze, locked in his ferocious stare. Trouble was I couldn’t read him in that moment. He’d shut down, so all I saw was a cold man with a vicious streak amplified by the wicked scar.
He shuddered as his entire body went into lockdown. Muscles bunched beneath his clothing, his aura trembled with aggression and rebellion. “I owe you nothing,” he spit.
My heart raced. Truth screamed loud and clear. Somehow he earned the facial scar thanks to a debt gone wrong. He wasn’t a free man. He was owned by someone who either kept him on a tight leash, or abused him so much it wouldn’t take much more for him to snap.