“I said don’t.” He whirls on me, looking wilder than I’ve ever seen him before. His beard, his hair, his eyes are all positively feral. But it’s the tremble in his mouth that undoes me.
I’ve never seen fear on him before. This is what it looks like.
But not fear for himself. Never, ever for himself.
I know without asking that this is fear for me.
“I thought he might have— I was afraid he was going to—” He breaks off and looks away, raising that hand to his mouth again like those words, too, can be repressed back into wherever they came from. “f**k. f**k. f**k!”
I scream when he punches the brick pillar. I’m sure his hand will come away absolutely mangled, but it’s a smear of mortar dust, not blood, that’s left behind. He rips away in another circle, stops halfway, looks at me again. H
