subject 13 // h.s. au

chapter nineteen.

The last time he said those words to me I had been naïve, not understanding the meaning behind them.

 I had been transfixed by his accented voice, his intimidating presence, his eyes, but this time was different.

I wasn't his in the first place, and although my knees still weakened every time he spoke, I had enough confidence in myself now to be irritated with his arrogance. 

It was like a switch had flipped somewhere inside me, as I thought about the fact that we had never actually had anything resembling a real conversation.

He hadn't mentioned anything about the fight with 12, which apparently involved the other boys. He hadn't actually said anything to me about what he had learned about my past, or how he felt about it.

He hadn't said anything about Asher.

He was purposely avoiding talking about anything that actually mattered to me. Instead, he had been controlled by his jealousy and it pissed me off. I didn't exist solely for his own amusement.

So, I looked sweetly into his eyes, brought my hand up to unwind his fingers from my hair, and took several steps back.

"Let me know when you get over yourself," I smiled warmly, but my words were jarring, "and we can talk then."

"What?" he scoffed, his eyes now swirling in anger as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't like to repeat myself," I remarked, mimicking his own words, "so I won't."

I felt a rush of adrenaline at my daring words, pleased with myself for actually expressing how I felt. It was thrilling to feel in control for once. My whole life had been planned out for me from the start, but this, right now, I could control.

"You're on thin ice, darling," he shot back, his words tinged with impatience, "I would choose your words very carefully."

He took a step towards me.

"Actually, Harry, you're not in charge here," I noted, "I am."

I was shocked at how calm and self-assured my own voice was, as he took several more steps toward me. His hands flexed and contracted, hardening into fists at his sides, and I tore my eyes away from his rings. 

He was fuming but didn't say a word. He knew I was right.

"When you actually want to talk about all the shit that's gone down in the past forty-eight hours, or hell, the past nine months, you know where to find me. But until then," I ended with a shrug.

"Are you fucking with me right now," he seethed, coming even closer, but his anger was undercut by the uncertainty in his voice.

Confidence swelled in my chest, and I took a step toward him, inches from his chest. I was looking up at him, but this time I had the upper hand.

"Also, let's get something clear," I said roughly, "I don't know if your fascination with me is a game, or what, but I am not anyone's. So, I don't need you interrogating me about what I do when you're not around."

My chest moved up and down rapidly with my heavy breathing, and he glared at me in confusion and frustration.

He grabbed my face, and his lips crashed into mine. I shoved down the fluttering feeling in my chest and pushed him back. He stumbled back in bewilderment.

"Get out," I snapped, pointing towards the door.

"Wait, I'm sorry, we can talk-"

"Get out." my words cut like a knife as a tidal wave of anger crashed through me. I couldn't see myself, but I knew from his shocked expression that a look of resentment had settled on my face.