The Rebirth of Sin (Wicked Trinity Book 2) by Courtney Lane Page B

better.”
    “That’s them”—he began to raise his voice again and gestured dramatically back to the house—“putting false ideas inside your head. They are making you feel like you’re a failure because you don’t fit in with them anymore.”
    “Are we still speaking about me, or are you projecting how they make you feel onto me?”
    He dropped his arms, his posture becoming rigid. Any lively or discernible expression on his face was swept away with a cold, dark front. 
    “Tell me what you want, Noah? What am I supposed to do? Live in isolation with you and pretend my family and my friends don’t exist?”
    “Have you ever wondered why your mother chose now for a senate run?” He stepped forward and slid his hands into his pockets while slanting his hazel-blue eyes at me. “She’s parading you around like some kind of trophy. She’s using you and what you’ve been through to win sympathy. To help her win the race. You’re so gullible you don’t realize what she’s doing to you.” Calming himself slightly, he stepped closer and clutched my waist. “We’re leaving. We’ll keep traveling until we find a place of our own away from this shit. Let them live in their world made of wax until it fucking melts and takes them with it. You can’t be a part of this, it’s not who you are anymore.”
    “Noah, if I’m honest”—unable to touch him, I fidgeted with my hands between the small space between him and me—“I don’t know who I am anymore beyond yours. I don’t know who I am beyond the woman who lets you do everything you want to her because she thinks— thought —she needed it.” I shook my head and backed away from his hold. “I need a happy medium. This is my world, and your world is isolating and only includes a volatile party of one. Can’t you meet me halfway?” 
    He dropped his hands from me and backed away. “I’ll never compromise for anyone. Either you’re with me, or you’re not. And if it’s the latter, don’t be shocked if I begin to remind you of everything you’ve forgotten.”
    “I can’t leave. My friends and family are here—and I’m just beginning to reconnect with them. My mother and I have discussed me taking over F.A.C.E. permanently, and—”
    “What?!” he shouted so loudly my eardrums protested with a mind-numbing ring. “Don’t force me to make you remember.”
     “Remember what?” I asked at his back as he searched the station, found his keys, and began to trod down the driveway.
    “Who you really are,” he said without turning around.
     
    THE NIGHT WAS UNCOMFORTABLE. Sleeping in the bed alone, I felt restless. I could hear Noah contend with his demons upstairs while he worked out. The sound of his presence wasn’t enough to leave me feeling settled. I felt utterly alone. 
    I continuously stared at my rolling bag; the one he dutifully unpacked and shoved into a corner.
    The racket upstairs ceased, indicating he might’ve possibly decided to return to bed.
    The grinding of the elevator’s gears resounded, announcing his pending arrival. I slipped out of bed carefully, feeling the pricks of discomfort from last night. He passed me by and headed for the shower.
    I sat back down on the edge of the bed and waited.
     
    His shower gave me time to sort through my thoughts and think of the best possible conversation starters that would circumvent angering him further. The night he took things too far, and the night he broke his promise to me could not be repeated. I had no idea why I held on when he seemed posed to continue to shatter me. There was an unseen and not yet reached limit to how much more I could take from him.
     When he returned to bed and crashed on the other side of me, I made the first move.
    I sat astride his lap as he rested beneath me with his arm behind his head. “You know you can talk to me, Noah.” My hand skipped down his body, delicately touching the old stab wounds marring his otherwise pristine and bronzed flesh.