His eyes are tracking one of those tears when I finally admit, “I think you’re weak.” And God, it hurts to say that because he’s not weak for the abuse that happened, he’s not weak for surviving it, but he is weak for letting the man who raised him turn him into a cold, unfeeling monster. It hurts so bad that I’m shaking when his beautiful amber eyes flick back to mine, when open mockery rolls across his expression.
