A Little Too Twisted

chapter 4

Diana

Thorne is standing in front of the window, his stance indolent. He is leaning back, elbows on the railing, an unlit cigarette in his fingers. He plays with it, turning it expertly around and around his middle and pointer fingers.

He stops when I freeze in front of him. Then his eyes move to my face.

My chest feels tight. I am breathing too fast. I am severely embarrassed and humiliated. I feel pathetic. And that he, of all people, had heard everything that just happened makes it all so much worse.

Overwhelming emotions suddenly hit me like a tsunami. I close my eyes, curl my hands into fists. I try to swallow the emotions down, try to control and make them go away, but I recognize the signs.

I always leave and be alone until the emotion passes, but I don't want to do that with him. I don't want to spare him.

I feel him shift, but before he could say anything, I snapped my eyes open.

"Shut up," I say. Every word drips with anger.

He pushes away from the railing, surprise in his eyes. He stares at me, but instead of derision and harsh judgment like I've come to expect from people, I see amusement on his face.

"I don't want to hear it." I grit my teeth. "I'm trying my fucking best."

He raises his hands in surrender, still looking at me with those amused grey eyes.

After the incident that changed my life forever when I turned nine, I have learned to repress my anger, but sometimes, it comes out. I always escape and hide. It takes me a long time to recover. I hate it.

Kids started to look at me weird and avoided me at school. Even my teachers treated me differently. The sudden change from a quiet kid to a screaming little lunatic must have scared them. It just convinced me to repress it more.

My grandmother finally sent me to therapy. It was only a few sessions, but the therapist taught me to find ways to deal with my emotions better. Well, better than before. I know I still need a lot of work.

Wild once told me that I very rarely get angry, but when I do, it shocks her. She'd said it's the switch from sweet to cold that is so unexpected it leaves her speechless.

Thorne isn't looking at me like what I've come to expect from people—there is no judgment, no disgust. He looks almost... impressed. And I have no idea why I suddenly want to cry.

I don't want to humiliate myself more in front of him by crying, so I quickly climb the stairs and plan to never see him again.

And cry in horror when the lanyard around my neck tears and falls, but instead of landing on the floor, it lands at his feet.

Shit, shit, and everything shit! Can this get any worse?

I don't move. He doesn't move either.  I swallow. Then he bends down and picks it up. Without a word, he hands it to me.

I run.