PAINT IT RED (MikhAiah)

24: Guarded Heart, Bared Blade

"When anger rises, think of the consequences." —Confucius

***

AIAH

Harsh. Oblivious. Arrogant.

Three words I never thought I'd use to describe the woman before me.

Unfairly confining me to my house, while not giving me the same option of knowing she's safe... I can't even put into words how pissed off I am.

"You don't even take the time to fire off a text that you're okay," I go on, keeping my tone even, refusing to show too much emotion.

I don't bleed for the world anymore.

She saw more than anyone else, and she didn't bother to care when it mattered the most.

"Aiah, I get that you're pissed, but you can't be here," she says, her voice softening.

"I see that," I retort tightly, taking a step back. "Sorry I cared. It won't happen again."

Tacky and juvenile as that sounds, it's a bitter girl's prerogative right now.

I turn and start walking away, but she follows, grabbing my arm. I rip it free from her grip.

"You don't understand," she whispers, looking over at a camera. "He could be watching. We don't know what he's capable of right now, and his past is mostly a mystery."

"You put me in a bubble, and I gave you peace of mind. You cared. I'd do anything to ease your mind so that you didn't worry." I swallow down the knot in my throat, refusing to get emotional, disallowing my weakness or vulnerability to shine. "I worry too, Mikha. Jeremy got the call your team was hit, and you were all at the hospital. You wouldn't even answer your phone. Or send a text. Or respond to my hundreds of texts. I can handle a lot of things, but I won't let you walk all over me, then refuse to offer me the same peace of mind. And then get pissed at me? Talk down to me? Who the hell do you think I am?"

I turn and walk away, and she lets me, because she can't follow. She can't make a scene.

The Boogeyman could be watching.

Let the sick bastard come.

I need something to stab.

"Stay with her. I'll be there as soon as I can get free," I hear Mikha saying, probably to Jeremy as I keep walking. "And someone find me a fucking phone charger!"

The first tear falls as I step into the open elevator and stab the Lobby button fiercely. I ran up three flights of stairs, worried out of my mind that Mikha was hurt when I couldn't get her to answer my million and one calls or texts.

Turns out, I'm just someone she didn't bother to think of when I was going out of my mind with all the worst case scenarios.

Dead phone is not a good excuse. Not when everyone on the team is here with their phones she could have used.

Jeremy slides into the elevator just before the doors close, and he leans against the wall.

He doesn't say a word, and I toss him the keys the second we hit the lobby. Silently, we make it to the car, and make the long drive home. I don't speak. The radio is silent. The only noise is the sound of my V8 Mustang vrooming down the street.

My phone lights up with a text from Mikha—guess she got that charger—but I don't bother reading it. Just like she didn't bother with me.

When we finally reach my house, I take the keys from Jeremy, but I cross over to the driver's seat.