He was never mine
“You know you want to fight me… and maybe a little more than that.”
I froze. My mouth opened to protest, but no words came. My heart was hammering, my face hot, and my body refused to move. I hated that he had this effect on me. I hated that I wanted to react to him instead of just pushing him away.
Then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, leaving me trembling and breathless, staring after him.
And in the quiet of the library, one thought lingered like a warning:
This isn’t hate anymore. Not entirely. And whatever this is… it’s dangerous.
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