“You never told me why you were at the bridge,” I say. “Which is more self-destructive? Talking to me or pretending that you weren’t covered in blood earlier?”
“First, you tell me. Which is worse? Returning to your perfect life right now or being denied my secrets a little while longer?”
“I’m tired of being lied to,” I admit tiredly. “By Hale. Father. I’m tired of lying.”
His lips quirk, but into less of a smile. More like a grimace. “So if Ididknow your brother, and if there was something more to that drawing, would it even matter?”
It could be a hypothetical question, but no… His voice is too deep. Pensive.
“Yes,” I insist. “Of course, it would. And I would want you to tell me.”
He grunts. “Doesn’t answer my question. But to answer yours… Pretending is way more self-destructive. I don’t think you could hurt me if you wanted to.”
His tone alone dares me to reach out with two fingers and seize a sliver of skin on his forearm. I pinch him hard.
He doesn’t even wince. “You see? Now my turn.” He touches my forearm but doesn’t pinch. His heat burns just as painfully, though. “What’s the worst thing you could do right now to make this all worth it before you run back to your father… and Colton?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You’re the one on a self-destructive vendetta. Not me.”
There are several things, but one sticks out in my mind the most. Any other time, I’d never have the nerve to voice it. It’s so crazy. So reckless.
“The worst thing I could do? Kiss some weird stranger in a random alley and wallow in my descent to rock bottom.”
“Just a kiss? Don’t be a girl scout. I’m sure you can think of worse than that.”
He’s right. This dilemma requires careful consideration, so I copy his posture. Looking at him, I come up with the answer as my gaze traces his broad, hard form.
“Sex.” I shiver just saying it. I never talk like this. Ever. “But a girl would have to be pretty pathetic. Especially if the guy was a weird stranger.”
“And the guy?” Daze pitches in. “Well, he’d have to be one desperate motherfucker. I mean, he could go pick up something harsher on the street. Some good blow that might last a few days, at least. But some girl? She’d probably distract him for ten minutes, tops. Five if she has no tits.”
A sound trickles out of me that I don’t recognize at first. Frowning, I try to decipher it. A laugh, maybe? One more genuine than any before it. The kind of giggle I haven’t heard in months. Or years. My arms are around my chest again before I realize it, as if the added protection can lock any other emotions inside.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Pretty desperate.”
“So maybe I should cut to the chase?” I stiffen as he props an elbow on his knee. “I’m desperate. You’re pathetic. We’re both here, where I happen to keep a stash of the cheapest, chafiest condoms known to man. Want to have probably terrible, impersonal sex to further avoid our personal shit for at least an hour longer?”
He doesn’t laugh. His lips don’t even quirk into the faintest hint of a smile. He’s more serious now than when he dragged me off a bridge. And deep down in the pit of my stomach, I know the answer he wants to hear. The answer a normal, sane person would give.
No.
But in the absence of jumping off a bridge, he might be the next best thing, as sick as that may be. A punishment I deserve—to become the person Hale thought I was. Broken and dirty.
Unluckily for us both, I think Daze is tailor-made to indulge my worst rebellious inclinations.
I deserve it.
I deserve so much worse than this.
“Do you want to sleep together, Daze?” I ask, feeling my cheeks catch fire despite the bravado my voice conveys.
He holds my gaze ruthlessly, unwilling to shy from the suggestion. “You meanfuck?”
I know I’m blushing harder than ever, but I manage to nod anyway.
He just sighs, like someone gearing up for another hit from the easiest vice within reach. When his voice finally echoes off the walls, he sounds more exhausted than I feel. “Okay.”