Chapter 42

"Mine…" I hesitate.

He leans down and I don't know how the hell he sees a good moment in our argument for a kiss but he leans down and breaks one off me. He doesn't try to console me. I think he wants to calm down. Himself. He doesn't give a damn about my nerves. He wipes my tears but doesn't stop them.

"Now you come with me," he decides. Do you hear me? "You come with me," he repeats, and I feel like the kiss wasn't nearly enough, that he's still nervous and tense."

He feels the need to repeat himself because I don't move right away. I don't want to go there. I want to stay here. There's something in his gaze like a final warning. Okay. I move my feet and stumble down the stairs. The irony of fate is that I almost fall without my slippers. He catches me with one hand and I feel the comment on his lips. He wants to curse me.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm retreating from his touch. I can go alone."

"I see, snort. Come on. This is the last time I'm telling you."

I'm sure he's taking me to my mother. That he'll question her and find out what he asked of me, and that would be more embarrassing than anything else. How can I tell him that even my mother doesn't want me for who I am or for his money. It's his. Not mine. Right now my account balance is a perfect 0. Instead, he's taking me to the garage. He holds me tightly by the arm and starts muttering about how I can't walk straight on the road and I'm going to get bruises. I look at my foot. Okay, I scraped myself a little, but that's it. That's all. It could have been worse. And then, I feel like I'm more likely to get bruised from his grip than from tripping.

"Brute", I hiss at him.

He looked at me so hatefully that for a few moments I didn't want to say anything to him.

"Bitch", he mutters back. "You can't come to me and talk nicely when you want something, can you! You must assume I'm Spartan and that I don't want your well-being. It's my fault your mother got involved with a married man," he keeps muttering.

"Mom would never do that!"

I don't know why I'm bursting out like this when she told me the truth earlier. I don't know why I refuse to believe the obvious. I open my door and sit down before she can say anything else.

"Look, you did it," he mutters sarcastically and grabs my belt. "And something tells me that if you had the chance to do it again, you wouldn't stop this time."

Why does he know me better than I do?

"Go to hell," I hiss as the tears start to flow again.

He sits down next to me. He starts the engine. He puts some tissues in my lap.

"You know I can't help you if you don't tell me what the hell is wrong with you, right?"

He's trying to calm his voice. He's trying to help me, I know. To calm me down. To be with me. It's just that I don't want this. It's just that every particle in my body is screaming at me, begging me, not to do this to him. Not to let him do this.

"Stop it," I ask him after we leave the hotel perimeter. "Just… Stop it, I whisper and I think I'm almost begging him."

"What am I doing?"

Accelerate.

"You act like you want to help..."

"I want..."

"…as if you care…"

"…I care…"

"...as if it matters at all to you..."

"…it matters… How can it not matter that my wife can't stop crying and I don't even know why? I have no idea what triggers these kinds of emotions in you. Damn it, you're not telling me anything. I don't know anything about you. Nothing!"

"Because it's your fault! I burst out again. She came back for you, not for me. For your name, your money. Don't give a damn about me."

I put my hand to my mouth when I realize I've already told him everything.

"She came back for me? Repeat. For my money? Kassie, did Lucille ask you for money? Is that why you're crying?"

I see his efforts. And normally I would appreciate that. I would appreciate that even though his muscles are still tense and his jaw is clenched he is trying to tame his voice. I don't answer him. I don't answer him. I wipe my tears and content myself with glaring at him. I think my silence is making him even angrier because I can feel the tension building between us with the speed and I can feel that my anger is still there. I keep crying, out of nerves. Every now and then he gives me a sharp look. I'm sure I know what he's thinking and his thoughts make me even angrier. He thinks I married him for the money. That I had everything in mind. That Hades was also an option for the same reason. That I want the good life, not a quiet one. He thinks I'm using him. I hate him for thinking that. He doesn't say it directly but why else would he look at me so glaringly?

He stops at the stairs of the apartment building. I wipe my tears again and open the door for me. Not like a gentleman, as if he's kicking me out. He unbuckles his seatbelt and waits. He's impatient. I get out. He motions for me to go ahead of him and I listen to him. Only now do I remember that I'm barefoot. I pull at my dress lower. He opens the door for me. In the elevator I feel like we're both suffocating. He's not in a penthouse, like in movies or books. He has an apartment on the 6th floor. His gaze lingers. He stares so sharply at the back of my head that I feel like he's going to punch me in two holes soon. I start playing with my wedding ring. Maybe this is the warning, his way of saying that it's time to take them back. Maybe I should tell him to take me home, to my dad's. That I prefer to stay there. That it's better that way. He opens the door to the apartment and goes straight to the kitchen. He looks after me, still angry, and I follow him. I don't know why. He lifts me up as if I weigh nothing and places me on the edge of the counter, as if I were part of the tableware. He goes out and comes back with a first aid kit. I'm still playing with the ring. I start to take it off slowly, gradually, and I don't know why I'm crying again. He doesn't even notice me, he's busy cleaning the scrapes on my left knee, which I touched a little on one of the wooden pillars at the exit of the gazebo. He cleans the blood off it.

"I can handle it alone."

He snorts. He looks up briefly.

"Does it hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt. I can handle it on my own."

Get down. He was looking at my hand.

"If you dare take that ring off... I swear Kassie..." he hissed.

"Now you tell me what to do?"

I'm sabotaging myself. He stands up. He puts his hands on either side of me and I can see that he needs all of his being to keep from lashing out. He grabs my chin and lifts it towards him.

"If you take the ring out of a nothing like this," he whispers slowly, almost jerkily, every word clear as he looks me straight in the eye, "I might do more to you than give you orders. I'm trying not to bend your neck but damn you, you're not helping me at all."

"Are you telling me that's not what you were thinking? Earlier. That I'm some kind of profiteer and that I don't deserve any of this? That you're so good to me and eh I'm just a miserable, stingy whore who's after..."

He cuts off my line of words as he kisses me tightly, angrily, irritated by my words.

"Don't interrupt me," I ask him when he breaks away from me.

He runs a hand through my hair. His eyes shine and his anger transforms. It takes on other shades, I can touch his soul with my hand. My soul hasn't been touched in centuries… His free hand goes directly down my thigh.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now," he whispers, sounding more like a threat than something erotic.

"And I'm stopping you?"

My mouth has a mind of its own. And that's enough anyway. His hand slides like a snake under my skirt and grabs my underwear. He pulls and doesn't wait to take it off. He rips it. He's warning me, I know that. He tells me that he won't be kind or gentle, that he won't be attentive and that he'll take all his nerves out on me. That we'll both release the tension and talk later. That we can cuddle afterwards but now we have to fight in the sheets. Or, please, on the Kitchen's muzzle.

"You can tell me to stop anytime," he assured me before he started.

He's adorable when he worries.