My command, unsurprisingly, falls on deaf ears.
Rafe lunges forward, completely ignoring how hard I'm trying to shove him away, even with every ounce of strength I can muster. My skin crawls where it contacts his chest.
He moves—forward, though. Not backward.
Inexorable and manic, his eyes darting all over my face.
"I'll allow that slap, and even this—" his voice drops low, his familiar voice now unfamiliar and nauseating, "—just this once, Grace. I understand you're angry with me. I'm letting you vent. But I won't tolerate it in the future."
Won't tolerate it.
The words echo, bouncing around my head like a toxic cannon ball.
Won't tolerate it.
As if he has any right to tolerate or not tolerate anything I do.
To Rafe, I'm a silly girl throwing a tantrum, not the wronged woman he cheated on.
What a scumbag.
