Torture to Her Soul
Page 7

She can't fucking stand to be near me.
I split myself open for her, exposing the vulnerable parts of me, the parts nobody else gets to see, and she accepts it. She accepts it, and loves it, but she doesn't understand it. And when I finally explain it to her, explain how I'd be victimized, how I'd been hurt, how my life had been destroyed, she acts like I'm the one in the wrong.
"I give you space, Karissa. I give you space, even though everything in me tells me not to, because it's what you want. I give you space, and how do you repay me? By goading me. By inviting people into my home, into my space, without even consulting me. You want your space? Then give me mine, too, and stop disrespecting it!"
"I haven't—"
"You have," I say, cutting her off. "Your little innocent act isn't going to work on me… not anymore. You know what you're doing. You're not ignorant. You know how it affects me, and yet you keep on doing it. I let you, because you needed time, you needed my patience, but you're out of time now, Karissa, because I'm out of patience. You want to play this game? You want to fuck with me until you get a reaction? That's fine. I'll give you exactly what you want."
I press up against her, my nose brushing against hers as she struggles to break the hold I have on her. Tilting my head, leaning further down, I pause with my lips just a breath away from hers.
I want to kiss her.
I'd give anything to have her kiss me back again.
I can feel it as she whispers, "Let me go."
"Make me. I dare you."
She shoves me with her free hand, slipping around me so quickly I hardly have time to react. I let go of her wrist a second too late, and she winces as her arm awkwardly twists. She grabs her wrist where I held her as she backs away, shaking her head, another stray tear flowing down her cheek.
"There's something wrong with you!" she shouts, loud enough that Melody hears, calling out from the den to see if Karissa's okay. "You're… you're fucking sick."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"I hate you!"
"Again, tell me something I don't know."
"Karissa?" Melody calls, stepping into the doorway of the kitchen, hesitating as she glances between us, her eyes laced with suspicion. "Is everything okay?"
I stare at Karissa, cocking an eyebrow, waiting on her to respond. She doesn't want me to address her friend, not right now, not when I'm in this mood.
Karissa slowly nods, still rubbing her wrist. "Yeah, it's fine, but uh… you should probably go. Naz and I… well…"
"I get it," Melody says quickly, waving us away. "Lover's quarrel and all that. I'll, uh… I'll see you later this week, okay? We still on for the café?"
"Of course," Karissa says, forcing a smile. "I'll see you then."
Melody waves before scurrying out of the house. It isn't until the front door opens and closes, signaling she's actually gone, that Karissa turns back to me again. The fear is gone from her eyes, as is the anger I've been accustomed to these past few weeks. All that greets me now is sadness.
Heartbreak.
She keeps rubbing her wrist, clutching onto it. My anger lessens as worry seeps in. I step toward her, reaching for her arm. "Are you okay?"
Before I can touch her, she yanks away, backing up to put some more space between us. "Like you care."
"I do," I say. "If I hurt you…"
She scoffs. "All you do is hurt me."
I want to say something, to refute that, but I can't.
Karissa's silent for a moment before looking at me, her voice a whisper. "You know what the worst day of my life was, Naz?"
I barely hesitate. "The day I killed your father."
She flinches at those words, but she shakes her head as she crosses her arms over her chest. "The worst day of my life was that day in my dorm room. You warned me to stay away from you… but I didn't listen. You said if you didn't walk away then, you never would… but I didn't listen to that, either. And I see now you meant it. You really meant it." Her voice cracks. "I made a mistake. I should've never asked you to stay."
She could pick up a knife from the counter and plunge it in my chest right now, and it wouldn't bother me—wouldn't hurt me—as much as those words do.
I'd rather be shot again than to hear what she just said.
But she knows that.
And maybe she means those words.
Maybe that was the worst day of her life.
But that offers little consolation to me.
It stings.
Wordlessly, I push away from the counter and take a few strained steps toward her. Karissa stands still as I slowly walk right by her, refusing to meet my eyes as I stare down at her.
I pause beside her, leaning closer, my lips near her ear. "But you did," I say quietly. "You asked me to stay, so get used to it, sweetheart, because I'm not going anywhere."
Her skin is soft. Pure. Rarely touched.
Although Karissa keeps her eyes closed, her body completely still, I know she's awake. I can tell it from the catch in her throat, the soft shudder of a breath she lets out when I climb in bed beside her. She's wearing a flimsy black tank top and a pair of underwear.
She always wears very little to bed.
I wear even less.
I sleep naked. I have no qualms about it. I try to be a gentleman, try to be understanding and keep my hands to myself, but it's hard.