Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

60. Detestable

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Go on, stack the cinder blocks in a cold sweat

Build yourself a citadel amid the foothills of regret

And though you've convinced yourself, you're safe and sound within

The thing you fear the most never need get in. . .

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Stolas and (Y/N) were left in silent shock and bewilderment as Striker left the room and walked briskly down the hallway. Seeing the crestfallen look on his friend's face, Stolas laid a hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder and smiled reassuringly at her.

"I'll go see what's troubling him," he said softly. "Don't worry, my dear. We'll be right back."

He turned from her and walked out the door, his red eyes glowing hot with a seething rage. It wasn't long before he tracked down the imp, catching up to him with his long strides.

"Where are you going?" he said when he reached Striker, a razor-sharp edge in his voice. "She needs you right now."

Without slowing his pace, Striker kept his eyes forward and said in a low voice, "I can't stay here."

"And why is that?"

He shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

Stolas' eyes narrowed at him, his voice dripping with venom: "Oh, I think I know."

"Oh, really?" Striker remarked cynically. "Then please, enlighten me, Your Highness."

"It's your guilt."

The imp stopped mid-stride, still facing the hallway ahead of him. He felt his body go rigid.

"Your guilt for what happened," Stolas added. "You're walking away because you can't bear to see the evidence of what you've done."

Striker snapped his head toward the prince, his tail beginning to rattle. "You better fuckin' watch it, feathers," he growled.

"You're walking away to make yourself feel better," Stolas continued. "(Y/N) needs you — and like always, you're only thinking of yourself."

The rattling grew louder as Striker let out an angry bellow and swung his closed fist toward Stolas.

Stolas dodged the punch and grabbed the imp's wrist before he could retract his arm. "I've held my tongue for her sake — I care about her more than I detest you." He scowled at him in blatant contempt. "But (Y/N) is not here right now."

"You ain't gotta tell me shit, feathers," Striker snarled. "I already know you can't fuckin' stand me."

Stolas' hold on his wrist tightened. "You want to know the truth? Yes. I do hate you. I despise you. For what you did to me, of course. But also for what you've done to my friend — the physical and emotional torture you've caused her to endure. I hate you for letting her believe that there is still some good in you. And I absolutely loathe how, despite everything you've put her through, you are still the most important thing to her." He peered into Striker's eyes with a fiery red glare, his scowl deepening. "I don't care how deeply you care for (Y/N). You do not deserve someone like her."

Striker pulled hard against Stolas' grasp. "Let go of me, motherfucker!"

Stolas leaned closer to him, speaking a little gentler now: "(Y/N) has long forgiven you. But you're simply not able to forgive yourself."

"Don't fuckin' play shrink with me!" Striker barked as he struggled to free himself; it was barely visible, but Stolas could see the spark of panic settling in his yellow eyes.

Stolas' features softened slightly. "(Y/N) does not seem to blame you for what happened," he said, adopting a more parental tone. "She insisted all throughout her recovery that it was an accident. Not once did she ever speak ill of you."

Striker jerked back, finally yanking his arm out of Stolas' iron grip. A deep grimace marred his features. He opened his mouth to respond, but shut it and clenched his teeth when he was unable to form the words. He directed his glare to the wall beside them, his chin beginning to quiver as bitter tears pricked his eyes. He stepped back from Stolas, shaking his head.

"Just stay away from me," he said in a wavering voice. He staggered backward until he finally turned away from Stolas and walked quickly down the hallway.