Bast reeled back as though he'd struck her, feeling the blood leave her face so that she was dangerously lightheaded. How did he know? He couldn't know, because there was nothing to know. It was just wishful thinking on his part, because she didn't love him.
But that was the thing: it was wishful thinking. Meaning he wanted her to love him. And he wanted to give his love to her. And it was so fucking appealing that for just a moment, less than a second, Bast allowed herself to imagine it too. And how wonderful it could be.
And how it would break her.
She took a step back. She couldn't forget that part, that last part. How giving her heart to someone else meant that they'd have control over her. It meant that when he left, if he left, her world would shatter. The short-term bliss that would come from loving him just wasn't worth the risk of the pain he'd bring her.
Was it?
Oh fuck. He was getting under her skin again. This is why she'd broken it off to begin with. And why she'd been avoiding him. Yes, okay, she'd admit that: she'd deliberately tried not to see him. And this was why. He did something to her, and somehow, she couldn't seem to stop it.
"Shut up," she whispered. Then with more firmness in her voice, she repeated, "Shut up. You just shut the fuck up."