Stop letting him get into your head.
Pain hit me sharp like an arrow and I spun away from West.
“Stop it,” I gritted. “Stop fucking pretending you remember. You wouldn’t remember the first thing about what my uncle wanted,” I whispered. “About me.”
A warm, sticky beat of silence passed, then West spoke softly. “Put my heart in a cage and treat it like a songbird.”
My heart stopped beating, the soft sounds of leaves rustling in the wind died. My breath was a hollow echo in my lungs. I was certain I’d heard him wrong.
“What did you just say?” I asked, barely louder than the breeze.
“Open old bone doors so my heart can sing,” West continued.
I spun around, heart in my throat, in time to see him kick off the window, eyes locked on my lips.
Put my heart in a cage and treat it like a songbird.
Open old bone doors so my love can sing.
Put my heart in a cage and treat it like a songbird.
Close the door, my love will settle back on its perch.
My song will wait until you return.
Stupid, lovesick words said by a stupid, lovesick teenager.
West didn’t stop walking until I was flush against the bed.
He leaned like he was going to kiss me, but stopped, breath feathering my lips. “My song will wait until you return.”
I sent West so many poems that went unanswered. I told myself he never got them. All this time he’d fucking read them?
“The bird fucking died waiting, West.” I straightened my back off the bed, meeting him eye for eye. “Someone else fed that bird. Someone else listened to that song.”
Maybe I wrote that poem for West, but it never felt more like it was meant for Grayson than in this moment, while I was caged, waiting to return to the true love of my life.
West’s eyes flashed to my collarbone, and before I could stop it, he fisted the locket Grayson gave me in his hand.
“You still seem confused about what you’ve agreed to. You don’t belong to him anymore.” His grip tightened, the chain biting into my neck.
“I will always belong to him. He’s mine, and I’m his.”
West ripped the locket off my neck. I felt the tear like it were a piece of my aorta ripping off. I stared at the dangling gold chains on either side of his fist.
“Bruises fade. Necklaces break.”
West turned, leaving and slamming the door shut.
My legs gave way beneath me, in stunted, gasping bursts. I gripped the silky bedspread so I didn’t slam to the ground, then fell, head in my hands.
Fuck.
This was the opposite of convincing him to trust me.
I guess if Grayson’s fatal flaw was not letting go, then mine was wearing my heart where everyone could see.
Where anyone can rip it from my neck.