Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve
"There she is."
He touched his cheek once and smiled.
"All that angelic bullshit and it just evaporates, doesn't it. The second it's just you and me."
My hand was still burning. My whole body was shaking and I couldn't make it stop and I hated that he could see it, just how much his words got to me.
I'd promised myself I would never take the bait and fall for any trick he would try, and I had failed. And now the bastard was grinning at me.
"If you were paying any attention while I told you about my father," I said, poking each chest with each word. "then you would've heard me say that I will not accept anyone talking about my father like that. I'll put up with a lot from you, Jason Leslie Dawson, but that's not one of them. Get that into your thick skull! Or else!"
"Or else what? You're not going to do shit," he said. "You'll stand there and take it, same as always. Same as the locker room, same as the hallway, same as every single time someone decides you're an easy target."
His voice was low and even and completely certain. "Because that's what you are. And charity cases, one of my mom's strays, and you don't get to have any limits. You're here because you need money. My money. So you'll take whatever I say and you'll be grateful for the fucking paycheck."
"Don't..."
His voice dropped dangerously low. "I wonder if that's why he died, because he knew he was wasting his life raising such an unlovable bottom-feeder freak who uses cheap sympathy points to get guys to pity-fuck her."
"How dare you?!"
In a furious rage, I raised my hand to slap him again, but caught it before it got anywhere near his face.
He never took his hand off mine, he kept his bigger stronger hand around my wrist, his thumb pressing in, feeling my pulse going completely haywire and there was nothing I could do about that.
I should have stepped back, but I was done thinking rationally at that point. So instead I stepped forward.
"You want to talk about ashamed fathers?" My voice was shaking but I didn't stop. "Really? You?" I looked up at him and something in my chest was past caring about consequences now, past caring about the job or the money or any of it.
"Because everything you just said to me, every single ugly word, that didn't come from nowhere. That came from someone who knows exactly what it feels like."
I held his gaze, bearing down on him and smiling with satisfaction when I saw him shrink back. "I bet your dad looks at you like he hates your fucking guts, like you disappoint him, and you can't do anything to change his mind about you, no matter how hard you try. So you'd rather come in here and take it out on me, project your insecure bullshit onto me and onto a dead man than admit it. Am I right?"
The silence was very loud after that.
Finally, he gritted his teeth and forced another smirk, covering up his embarrassment. Got him.
"So you do have a backbone," he said quietly. "Buried somewhere under all those ugly baggy clothes and saint routine. Do I bring out the worst of you?"
What a stupid question. I realised with disgust that he was still touching me, "Let go of my wrist."
"I don't think I will."
"Let go of me, you troglodyte!" I tried to pull, but his brute football grip didn't move. The feel of his hands on my skin made my stomach turn with rage and something else I didn't want to think about. "Don't touch me!"
"Why?"
"Because you're disgusting and I don't want you touching me."
"Too bad. I think I'll keep you here until you apologise."
I laughed, it was a short bitter laugh of disbelief, "You dragged my father's name through the mud, accused me, a virgin, of being a slut and essentially called me a beggar in your household instead of a rightful employee."
It took everything in me not to scream or bite his head off. "I will NEVER apologise to you?! Not even in your wildest dreams! I hate you!"
I pulled again, harder, feeling hot frustrated tears start to well up in my eyes while I pounded on his chest. "Let. Me. Go!" My voice fell to a shaky whisper, "Please."
He held on without any effort at all. Barely even paying attention to it, just watching my face while I fought his grip, and that was somehow the most infuriating thing of all, that this cost him nothing, that I was shaking with rage and he was just standing there.
"Let go of me!" I yelled, "You absolute bastard."
"I wonder just how many swear words I can pull out of your perfect mouth. What sort of things could I make the knockoff Mother Theresa say underneath me?" he said, clearly enjoying himself as he got a rise out of me.
Every single part of my body capable of blushing did so in that moment, and I wanted to kiss him and scratch his eye out all at once. It was madness.
"For God's sake! Why do you always have to make everything so sexual! You pervert! Let go of me, or I'll scream!"
He stepped even closer now, but I didn't step back. "If it's screaming you want, then come upstairs with me to my room. I'll give you something to scream about."
We were close now, far too close. This had nothing to do with the argument anymore and both of us knew it and yet neither of us moved away.
I could feel the heat coming off him. I could see the exact way his eyes had gone dark, his pupils blown wide, past his insults, past the cruelty, down to something underneath that was just raw and unstoppable and completely unguarded.
"I'm only going to tell you this one more time, Jace. Leave me alone."
"Make me," he said, his voice was low and gravelly and dark near my ears and my legs nearly gave out.
I became aware of things I had no business being aware of in the moment. The way his chest was rising and falling faster than it had been a minute ago, heaving with the effort of anger and arguing. His parted lips, the warmth of his hands on mine, the tiny sliver of an inch of air between us both.
My eyes dropped down, though I never meant to.
But they did, just for half a second, just long enough to see what was happening, the fact that he was so hard his erection strained against his sweatpants, and that he was massive.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, felt his other hand rest gently at the back of my neck, pulling me in for...
"Jace! There you are!" his mother burst into the room. He let me go then, turning to look at her with irritation while she looked curiously at him, then at me.
I just tried to concentrate on not crying or breaking something, so I stared at the floor unable to meet her eyes.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Lena. I've just been trying to find him for a long time now." Back to Jace. "Your father called the house phone. He said you haven't been answering your mobile. Won't you answer him?
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.