I slapped a hand over my mouth, to keep from laughing and barfing. It was a toss-up, honestly.
I couldn’t believe he’d said that!
Neither could Marcus. He was stunned.
Greer passed him, then sent me a smirk over Marcus’s shoulder, before he disappeared.
Be as angry as you want.
I released a breath and pushed aside the incredulity of the moment, and I zeroed in on Marcus, recognizing that he was doing his best to compose himself too. It was clear that he’d come here straight from the airport, partly because he was wearing the suit he preferred to fly in, but also because he looked tired.
A week ago, I’d sat next to him in his rental, and I’d told him I loved him. With a rock of unease and hurt in my belly, I’d told him I loved him. He’d dismissed my tension headache. He’d told me not to be in the way so much. He’d said he’d try to call me for my birthday if I was a good boy.
It sickened me to watch him now, to see him standing there, debating internally on which approach to take with me. Because that was what he was doing. Always scheming and deciding what tone to use, which words would have the deepest impact, and what expression would reel me in.
Eventually, he cleared his throat and closed the door. “I presume this has become a breakup rather than an attempt to work things out like adults.”
Fucker was already starting with his superior attitude.
Mere days ago, I would’ve shrunk and cowered away.
Now, he was pissing me off.
Be as angry as you want.
“Yeah, a week away from you cleared my head,” I replied. “I finally see you for what you are.”
He chuckled, and even that sound came out arrogant. “Let me guess. You need a villain to blame for your life not turning out the way you wanted. You are a child sometimes, Corey.”
“And you’re a fucking asshole,” I told him. His blue eyes flashed with a glare. “You’ve been so goddamn mean to me.”
“Oh, this song and dance again.” He sighed heavily. “If this is how it’s going to be, there’s no point in staying. I’ve given you everything—”
“You made me feel guilty for everything!” I shouted. And I fucking exploded with anger. My pulse went through the roof, and the rage just poured out of me. “Just yesterday, I went to a club with some friends, and I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to tell me I was doing something wrong, having too much fun, dancing too close to somebody, and it hit me that this is what you have done to me. You could do whatever the fuck you wanted, and you did it so well, Marcus. Christ, the shit you made me believe. But if I wanted to do something—no.” I shook my head. “That didn’t work for you. Never without restrictions. You had to control my every move. And you wrapped it all up in the name of kink.”
He wasn’t going to linger; I could tell. He glanced at the door, threw me impatient looks, and scoffed at whatever I said. He wasn’t gonna listen. And I was an idiot for thinking something might get through to him.
Abusers didn’t work that way. They would never view their actions as abusive. They always had an excuse, one they believed in.
“I hate you,” I said, and I took a calming breath. “I genuinely, truly fucking hate you. Because you’ll never admit to doing anything wrong whatsoever—unless it’s in the middle of a fight to get sympathy. All the times—fuck. So many times, you’ve spat out that you’re an awful Daddy for not making me happy, and I’ve run over to you to argue, to appease you. When you’ve been absolutely right. You are an awful Daddy Dom. You use kink as an excuse, nothing else. It’s your tool to control people.”
The sheer putridness of the venom and bitterness that flowed through me—I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t stomach the damn sight of him. He made me sick.
“You played me like a fiddle, but you went too far and broke the strings,” I said. “Thank fuck others noticed it when I didn’t.”
“Ah yes, the new partners you replaced me with in twenty minutes.” He offered a dry look, as if he were bored. But he wasn’t bored. He was just realizing he couldn’t push me around anymore, and now he was going to find another target. Another victim. “You know, Corey, if you wish to sound believable about how you feel—”
“Hey, fuck you,” I snapped. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to come here with your arrogant bullshit and tell me how I feel. You’ve been doing that for two years, and I’ve fucking had it. I know—I’m overbearing, I’m overreacting, I’m too sensitive, I’m too wild, I’m too difficult, and I’m lucky you put up with me.” I laughed, feeling hysteria bubbling up. It was insane! All of this! Two goddamn years, and I’d taken every punch. “You’ve hurt me so goddamn much. You’ve made me feel worthless, and now I get weepy every time someone does something nice for me.” The words left me, tasting like charcoal, and I hated giving him that. He didn’t deserve to know how much he’d beaten me down. “But it’s over now,” I said hoarsely. “And I take comfort in one thing. That no one will ever love you for who you are, because you are completely rotten, through and through. You need to play with guys’ emotions to get them to stick around.”