The Exiled Alpha | ✓

26 | Understand Me

My blood freezes in my veins at the sound of his voice. I wasn't trying to hide, per se. So what did I really expect? I feel sick with guilt, like I've done something terribly wrong.

I turn around, not bothering to hide the cigarette between my fingers. Riot is standing in the doorway of the house, his signature unreadable expression staring back at me.

Slowly, he approaches. His eyes are dead as a reaper's as he steps forward. I reciprocate with a step back. Another step forward, another step back. That's how it goes until my waist bumps into the wooden railing around the porch.

"Alright, fine. Yeah. I'm a smoker. So what?" I challenge, bracing myself for the worst. Maybe it's the suspense of the dead look on his face that gets to me, or maybe it's the guilt I already feel towards myself.

"Go ahead, tell me how stupid I am. Tell me how my lungs are blackening and how kissing me is the equivalent of licking an ashtray. Speaking of which, if you get lung cancer don't bother suing me. I'll reimburse you myself." I rant without stopping until I'm out of breath with my heart thumping in my throat. If I get all the jabs in at myself first, then he won't get the satisfaction.

While I was raving Riot was moving closer. Now his chest is inches from mine and for once the lack of distance is suffocating. As if in slow motion, he raises the hem of my shirt, exposing my stomach as if his unspoken point were written there. I don't make a move to stop him.

There they are: the various patches and streaks of raised, shiny scar tissue.

"Are you serious?" He asks, disbelief in his tone.

In the blink of an eye he grabs the cigarette from my hand and launches it across the yard. A growl thunders in his throat, aggressive enough to make a grisly bear run.

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!" He snarls in my face and I jerk my head away. I flinch at his volume, trapped between his body and the railing.

He snatches up pack of cigarettes peeking out of my jeans pocket. Within seconds the cardboard box is shredded in his hands and emptied on the ground.

"Hey! What the hell, you asshole!" I exclaim, although I would be more heard screaming into the void.

He stomps his foot down on the white rolls of paper, grinding them with a vengeance into the boards with his heel. With a burst of panic, I shove him away frantically. Then I crouch down, trying in vain to save the nicotine he's wasted.

But it's too late. Every single one: ruined.

Anger burns in my veins and heat rises to my face with the fury of a thousand suns. I inhale deeply, prepared to curse him out until the devil himself is taken aback. But he makes the first move, yanking me roughly to my feet.

He speaks in a deadly, strained tone. "Never touch a cigarette ever again. Do you understand me?"

When I don't answer, he repeats it even more slowly. "Do. You. Understand. Me."

I move my gaze from his chest up to his eyes. When they meet, I put as many metaphorical daggers into my stare as I can possibly muster.

"No," I snap, raising my chin defiantly, "If I want a cigarette then I'll get one. Do you understand me?"

But I'm not done there. I keep going.