A Beast's Tale

Chapter 32

"I'm sorry."

It was a massive understatement and inadequate compensation for what I'd done, but they were the only words that seemed appropriate in this situation. I knew it was a mistake to say them the moment she whirled to face me. She clenched her fists and narrowed her green eyes, and this petite woman, who was almost a foot shorter than me, was suddenly intimidating.

"You should be. You knew exactly how much that would scare me, and you did it anyway. That was cruel and malicious. Why couldn't you just tell me? You didn't have to do that. You don't know what it's like to be so completely helpless and vulnerable, knowing there's nothing you can do to stop somebody else from hurting you. And when it's someone you trusted—and I couldn't even fight you. Even while you were doing it, I couldn't believe it was happening. Do you know how much that hurts? That you would treat me like—like a common whore—when I thought you cared about me? And I don't want to hear you throwing the Brutal Beast at me again. You're just using that to justify mistreating people. If people don't matter—if emotions don't matter—then why do you bother with me?"

Every angry word pierced my heart. I reached for her, but she slapped my hand away.

"I said, don't touch me!"

I pulled my hand back, silent in the face of her pain, so much greater than the sting of the wounds hidden by my gloves. She was on the verge of tears.

"Never touch me again. You've lost that privilege. I don't care who you are, or who you think you are. I'm not a toy, or a tool, or your pet. I'm a person, and I have a name, and maybe you don't have to use it, but you will never treat me like that again. I don't want your charity, and I don't want your sympathy, but I demand your respect. If you can't give me that, don't pretend. Tell me flat out so I know where I stand. Or, better yet, just cut me down right here. What's a little more blood, right? Since I don't matter. Because it was all lies, wasn't it? I'm nothing more than dirt on your boot to you. Can I even believe a single word you said to me? Why did you have to make me think I had any value, just to tear it all away and laugh in my face? Don't lie to me anymore. Just say it to my face, so I can crawl back to the gutter where I belong."

I clenched my fists at my sides. "Stop."

"No, I won't stop. Because maybe if I keep going like this, you'll put me out of my misery once and for all, and then you can go find yourself a new playmate. Maybe you can pick up one of Jack's girls. Just tell Prince Leon you'll take care of her like you took care of me."

"Stop!"

"What, does it bother you? Does it hurt to hear the truth? Or maybe you've been lying to yourself, not me. Maybe you have a heart, and maybe you have emotions, and maybe you care about me. It makes no difference. I'm only here until my mother dies. Once she's gone, I'll be out of your life, and you'll just be a horrible memory I wish I could forget."

I stared at her, a picture of livid agony, shaking all over, her cheeks wet with tears. She knew. She knew so much more than I thought, and she knew how to hurt me as effectively as I had hurt her. But she disliked it as much as I did, even though I deserved every barbed word.

That didn't mean I wanted to hear more of it. Especially when she was dragging herself through the mud.

"Are you finished?"

She shook her head. Her chest and shoulders rose and fell with every quick, harsh breath. "Not yet. Not by a long shot. But there aren't enough words to express how angry I am right now, how deeply you hurt me."

Then she averted her eyes from me and hugged herself, and I had to force myself not to reach for her again.

"And the worst part is, you don't know any better. Death and bloodshed are normal, everyday occurrences for you, and for once in your life, that bothers you. But you couldn't just tell me. This was your idea of a solution. I want to be mad at you, but even now, I can't help feeling sorry for you."