She was sick of this feeling.
So sick of it she wanted to do something—anything—to shatter that all-knowing expression on his face.
So sick of it she wanted to make him hurt, too, to make him understand what it felt like to be seen through so completely.
So sick of it that she suddenly let go. The tattoo pen slipped from her hand, hit the floor with a CLATTER, and snapped in two.
Everyone in the private room was stunned.
She stood there, her chest rising and falling softly, staring at the shattered pieces on the floor without a word.
She didn't know why she had suddenly let go.
She only knew that if this went on any longer, she would lose to him.
"Jett Westgate, can you stop looking at me like that?"
Beads of blood were still trickling down his neck, disappearing into his collar. The flush on his face had deepened, but his eyes were unnervingly clear.
He looked at her for a long time.
So long that she started to regret asking the question.
