Broken Knight (All Saints High, #2)(31)

Trapped. I was trapped. Between this giant guy’s arms. A guy I no longer really knew, or could even trust.

“It was a mistake!”

I slapped the wall I was pressed against, the words piercing my throat and burning it with their intensity and weight.

I swiveled around. He let me. His eyes widened for a moment. I’d given him what he wanted, my words, and now he didn’t know what to do with them.

Frankly, neither did I.

Crap, I’d talked.

I’d talked to Knight.

I’d said something.

Produced words from my mouth.

Jesus Christ. I’d done it. I did it.

And it hadn’t been to tell him I loved him, that I wanted him, that I’d ached for him for years. We were fighting. Breaking. Putting an end to things that hadn’t even begun.

I opened my mouth again, tracing the words, saying them quieter now.

“It. Was. A. Mistake. Not the part where I gave Josh a chance—but that I did it for the wrong reasons, while drinking.”

I didn’t mean to smile. The situation definitely didn’t call for it. But I couldn’t help myself. I’d tried to get to this breakthrough with dozens of therapists. And, in true Luna Rexroth fashion, it had arrived at the worst possible time.

Knight took a step back, his face still grave, but somehow entertained at the same time. He was a dash of the boy who’d give me the entire world, thrown in with a giant, hard man who fought any positive feeling toward me.

“Were you conscious?” His voice was strained.

I didn’t want to lie.

I nodded.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then it really wasn’t a mistake. Unless you slipped on his dick with your legs spread, I’m pretty sure it was intentional. There’s a fucking limit to one’s clumsiness. Even if that someone is you.”

My smile collapsed; my eyebrows furrowed.

“Knight…” I said his name. Another different word. A word I’d practiced in secret for years.

He ran a hand through his hair, drawing a calming breath. The pain was smeared all over his face, like a sloppy painting. “Nah. It’s cool. My fault. You need to be a special type of stupid to allow yourself to feel for your best friend what I felt for you.”

Felt. Past tense.

But he’d felt something for me? I took a step toward him, cupping his cheeks, but he removed my hands from his face. My mouth quivered from the words it had produced earlier. Knight’s eyes were shining, the first time I’d seen him anywhere close to tears.

“You’re killing me, Luna Rexroth.” He groaned, producing the sound I’d thought I’d pull out of him with a knee to the balls.

“I’m killing you, Knight? Have you ever stopped to wonder that maybe, just maybe, you killed me a long time ago?”

The words flooded from my mouth now. I felt alive. Raw. Real. I didn’t even know I’d been feeling unreal up until now.

“Every day at school, your arm slung over a different girl’s shoulder? Every time you smirked at your phone, texting someone else? Tenth grade, Jamie Percy yelled in the cafeteria that you took her virginity in the back of your car. Eleventh grade, your parents were called into school because there was a rumor going around that you’d initiated a threesome with two seniors. I died a thousand deaths before I inflicted the slightest of pain on your beautiful, tarnished heart.”

Having a photographic memory sucked. I remembered every detail about our lives, and it poured out of my mouth without control. I couldn’t stop myself now. Even if I wanted to. And I was beginning to want to. A lot.

“You slept with so many girls, Knight. Arabella. Shay. Belle. Dana. Fiona. Ren. Janet. Staci. Dozens of them. Or was it hundreds? Wait, there was also Hannah. Kristen. Sarah. Kayla—”

“Enough!” he roared.

Knight disappeared from my sight like a demon. I turned around to see him blazing toward the Xbox, tearing it from its hub and throwing it against the wall. I jumped back as he plucked the TV from the wall, smashing it against the couch before ripping the couch apart. He then turned around to me, stretching his arms wide, as if he were some sort of a game show host.

“Funny story time, Luna. You may want to sit down for this one. There were, as it happens, no other girls. None. I actually waited for you. I’m. A. Goddamn. Fucking. Virgin! Let that sink in for a second.”

His voice boomed so loud, I was pretty sure everyone downstairs, and behind the door, heard, too.

“Those stories you’ve heard? That was all they are. Stories. I saved myself for you like a goddamn Jonas brother. Forgive me for not wearing a purity ring and shitting all over my reputation just to appease your never-ending, silent demands that I need somehow, miraculously, to predict.”

His fingers danced in the air, like my wants and needs were some kind of dark magic he wasn’t capable of deciphering.

“The only reason I even associated myself with girls was so I wouldn’t get shit from my friends, and to take some of the pressure off of you—so you didn’t think you were holding me back or something. Because, as a matter of fact, you were. I’ve been holding back for so long, you feel like a chain. A heavy, metal chain. I want to rip you apart, Luna Rexroth. I’ve been wanting to break away from you for a long fucking time, but you’re stronger than me. Than this.” He motioned between us, finally collapsing on the tattered couch, exhausted.