“Threatened?” The word leaves her mouth before she can catch it and there’s a hint of something like incredulity in it—surprised he would level the question at her. “I’m not threatened by much, Castile,” her voice remains even despite the anger that starts to lick at the back of her mind, the certainty that he was being willfully obtuse at this point. “But I promise you I am least of all threatened by your diplomats.”
It doesn’t cross her mind that she could be more direct when she feels as though she is chasing shadows, guessing at the things that stir in her belly, scratch at her mind. It doesn’t occur to her that she could simply give a name to the suspicions that have grown in her, taking root and flourishing.
And it certainly goes to the wayside at his next question.
For the first time since they started talking, heat rises in her throat truly. Something dangerous flashes behind her silver eyes as she barely registers him asking why she hasn’t been happy. She dismisses the question outright, choosing to flagrantly ignore it. it was difficult to believe that he would turn the tables on her—accuse her of being unhappy, of being threatened, of giving up on them—and she swallows down the bitter anger that he is. She’s never had much experience with being gaslit, but she’s sure this is it.
“I’m certainly not giving up,” she growls, her husky voice dropping even lower, the rasp of it licked with flames. “I’m just stating a simple truth. One I assume is acknowledged between the two of us.” She levels her silver eyes with him, forcing herself to separate her emotions—violently divorcing them so that she can be collected in this moment and not think about the pain that might accompany it. “If you are mine, completely, then nothing is different.” She watches him carefully, feeling heat rush beneath her skin.
“So, are you, Castile?” She angles her head. “Or have you been giving pieces of yourself away?”
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed