The Love I Found

Prologue

Just for fun and because I'm curious...

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"Hit me."

"What?"

"Just hit me, Emilia. I know you want to."

"I don't want to hit y—"

He shoves me back before I can finish. It doesn't really hurt, and it doesn't scare me. Cal is my protector. I know he would never hurt me. At least, not physically.

When I think about the girl that was just all over him, I realize he can hurt me emotionally quite easily. And it wasn't just tonight either. It's been one thing after another these past few weeks. The drugs. The stealing. The constant ups and downs of our relationship are exhausting.

Do I even matter to him or have I been fooling myself? Am I just his burden that he doesn't have time for anymore?

I'm feeling sorry for myself, and it's not a feeling that I'm comfortable with. Not anymore. I'm better than that now. Cal has made me better than that.

I shove him in return, surprising myself, and the arrogant ass has the nerve to look pleased. He also remains firmly in place as if my attempt to shove him was as weak as a summer breeze.

"C'mon, angel, that's all you got?" His words come out in a taunting tone, and then his hands rest against my shoulders. He gives them a quick squeeze. It's his subtle way of reassuring me; an unnecessary reminder that I'm safe with him just before he shoves me again.

This shove sends me stumbling back a couple of steps, but I quickly straighten my shoulders and take a step forward again. "Stop it, Cal," I demand through gritted teeth.

"Hit me," he says again as I walk closer. "I know you want to. It's written all over your face."

I'm about to deny it when he steps toward me and shoves me a third time. This time I am midstep, and the force of his shove catches me off guard. I begin to fall backwards, but Cal grips my upper arm and jerks me toward his chest.

The whiplash of his actions causes me to fall into him, and the anger that has been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long comes erupting out of me like a volcano.

I slam my fists against his chest as I regain my balance, but I don't stop there. I continue to hit him. His solid chest has become my personal punching bag, and with every landed punch I feel stronger. More capable. I zero in on my target and lose myself in the adrenaline.

I don't know how many times my fists collide against his chest, but eventually, I move my gaze from where my punches are landing and look up at his face.

He's smirking. I'm hitting him with everything I've got, and he's just standing there with a stupid smirk on his perfect lips.

I want to slap that smile right off of his face.

It's only after I see his surprised expression that I realize I've done just that.

Knowing that I caught him off guard feels better than it should and fills me with a new sense of power. I take the opportunity to slap him again.