He made a face. “You were wiping your nose with the back of your hand.”
“Well, there isn’t exactly tissue or toilet paper, is there?” I thought about it. Then I used my shoulder to wipe off my dry nose just to spite him. “I have a right to be upset. Everything I loved is gone. Maybe I’m never going to get out of here, and I’ve read about starvation; it’s not a pleasant fucking way to go. And I don’t want to fucking die, okay?”
Tears bubbled up in my eyes all over again, and I used the back of my hand to wipe them off, before sniffling so I could glare at him and look straight into those stupid purple eyes. “I’m scared, all right? And I won’t let myself regret helping you, but I’m going to regret a whole lot of other things if this is going to be the end.” Things like… things I couldn’t control. Things like never having a real boyfriend, never having sex. Never leaving the country. Never doing a million other things I had hoped would be in my future. I’d never even had a girls’ night out, for fuck’s sakes. “You’re not helping. At all.”
Oh God, I was going to start crying again.
The silence in the room might have been stifling if I gave a shit.
But I didn’t.
I’d lost all my shits somewhere between being kidnapped and finding out my home had been burned down. I didn’t deserve this. I had never done anything to deserve any of this. That was exactly what I was hung up on.
My whole life had revolved around decisions other people had made that affected me.
I’d had it. This could be it for me if I didn’t think straight and take advantage of any and every opportunity I had. I’d drink my own pee if I had to, and that was just the tip of the iceberg in the shit I was pretty sure I was willing to do to survive. I’d made a promise after all.
Fuck it. Fuck everything. I already knew I had nothing left to lose.
“Are you done?” The Defender asked like I wasn’t burning down my entire personality and life plans in the blink of an eye.
Was I? I stared at him and his crabby face, at the impatience stamped on his bone structure.
With a steady hand, I reached up, tugged the extra hair tie from my wrist—my faithful little black elastic that lived there—and in a way I’d practiced a hundred times out of boredom, I slingshot it across the room.
And I only felt a small, itty-bitty thrill when his eyebrows dropped right before he leaned out of the way and the tie hit the spot where his head had just been.
Those eyes stared at me just long enough for me to start to snort. Then he exploded from the floor.
One minute he was there, looking bored and hiding his pain as best as he could, and the next, he was lunging toward me so fast my eyes couldn’t keep up with his movement. And in less than the blink of a fucking eye, that snort still halfway out of my nose and half inside of me, he was on top of me.
Holy shit. He was on his hands and knees over my body, his fingers loose over my wrists. His calves pressed alongside the outside of my lower legs, careful to keep his weight off me.
I squeaked as his head dipped, those flaming purple eyes lighting up for one brief moment brighter than ever, his nostrils flaring wide as he growled, “What in the fuck are you doing?”
I squeaked. “It was just a hair tie.” Plus, he was bulletproof. Give me a break.
I felt the growl that rose from his chest in the tips of my toes. In my inner thighs. Right at the juncture of my ribs.
His head tilted to the side, giving me a view of dark, wide pupils and honestly… honestly… I almost felt scared for a split second. He looked like a crazy person. And I understood then better than ever why crime had gone down. I wouldn’t want to face this either. “Do you know… what happens… to people who… throw things at me?”
I stared.
Someone had thrown things at him? How stupid could you be? I wasn’t going to count myself. I’d known what I was doing.
Maybe this had been my destiny all along—to get to this point with a savior of mankind and lose my life to him.
But I was fed up with him and his bad attitude, his ungratefulness, and mostly him just being mean to me for no reason.
So I couldn’t help but try and growl right back at him just like he’d done to me. “I’m getting really tired of you being a butthole.”
Oh shit.
My imaginary balls were the size of grapefruits now. I’d just called The Defender a butthole to his face. Literally inches from it.
I might just have the biggest fucking balls of all time. At least I thought so. You know who didn’t?
The man who had saved a derailed train in Germany once, who was currently snarling down at me.
I just looked at him, my colossal imaginary balls heavy. “Jerk?” I offered with one of the first real smiles I’d given him.
He snarled even more. Ooh, somebody meant business.
“I’m not asking for comfort from you,” I gritted out. “I know you’re not here to do that. But you were being really insensitive and a—”
The growl was back, and I tried to huff.
“Jesus. I wasn’t going to say butthole again, calm down. You made me mad, and it was just a hair tie. I didn’t expect to hit you. Everyone knows how fast you are, even if you are… you know.” He knew. Probably not the best idea to bring up his injuries, but I didn’t have the patience or energy to tiptoe around him anymore. “But you’ve handled a lot worse than a little elastic. We both know it didn’t do any real damage, all right,” I told him, watching his eyes closely.
I’d tried to be nice to him. I’d sucked up all his comments, bitchy faces, and overall rudeness. But I was done with it. It was too hard. It was too much. I respected him, but that didn’t mean I liked him.
The Defender kept staring at me, head still tilted to the side.
I glared right back, not about to apologize anymore.
“Why are you finally talking to me now?” I blurted out, knowing damn well how rude the question was.
He stared me right in the damn eye as he said, “I was in pain before. Everything makes sense now.”
What made sense?
The Defender huffed, then rolled off me.
Fucking butthole.
And almost like he could read my mind, his head whipped back in my direction.
I looked at him, and then I sighed. “I’m scared, all right? Maybe you’re used to high-stress situations, but I’m not. If something bad happens in here, it happens. But I don’t want to die. I don’t want to starve.” My eyes helplessly filled with tears again that I could barely hold at bay, and I shrugged. “None of this is your fault. I’m sorry. I’m upset, and I’m taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”
His brow went flat, but after a moment, he settled back against the floor. His head moved until he faced the ceiling, and his nostrils flared again.
I rubbed my face, angry and disappointed and genuinely scared.
“You’re not going to die in here,” he muttered after a moment.
That was easy for him to believe. He didn’t know everything.
“We’re going to get out,” The Defender kept going… reassuring me?
I felt my lip wobble at the reminder of the maybe slim, maybe not slim, chance my life would end here in a brutal, painful way.