Isabela Part 3

"I need to choose to burn in hell, bleed until nothing runs through my veins but the black liquid resulting from contamination by the damn Big Bad Wolf, live in a war zone, fighting against my feelings and freaking out to give back the same provocations.
“I don’t like that you cut yourself! I want you to stop that, Little Sun!” he whispers, freeing me from his embrace, then cupping my cheeks in his hands, tilting my face up to meet his gaze, with an expression so tender and full of care that it annoys me.
That damn nickname I’ve always loved being uttered by those incredible, delicious, soft lips, swollen from our kiss, throws me off balance. I almost feel my feet leaving the ground from how light his thumbs feel against my cheeks. His touch on my body, the warmth of his skin—everything stirs me, bringing too much to the surface.
Don’t be nice, damn it!
Nate lifts my face to meet his eyes. I lose myself in an ocean of grayish-blue and almond-shaped eyes. I close my eyes, drinking in his affection like the damn thirsty weakling I am, like the needy little slut my mother used to scream that I was. And I fight, hiding the love-struck Isabela in a basement in my mind. I scream at her to stay away, to let the fucked-up person I’ve become come to the surface.
“Don’t lower your defenses, Nate. I still hate you!” I scoff.
“I’m serious, Isabela. Punch a wall, kick something, curse and scream until you’re hoarse, but don’t hurt yourself. I taught you how to defend yourself, and you just showed you’re very capable of it, so be that venomous girl, but don’t cut yourself because of others!”
I fight against the power his words have. I struggle against the tide of empathy trying to drown me. Because I know this tenderness will fade, his anger will ignite when he walks out that door, and he will hurt me. I need to raise my shields. Expel him from my body, strangle my feelings at all costs.
“Your advice is so healthy, Nate. Do you want to turn me into a mini version of yourself? A little psycho who has no control over what I can do to others?” I mock bitterly, knowing I’m stooping low, twisting the knobs in his head, being a bitch.
I just threw the lowest blow I could. I embrace the label he gave me years ago when he left, accepting that I’m nothing more than a dirty girl. So I allow myself to sign a contract with the devil because paradise has certainly just slammed the door in my face.
I feel his grip tighten on my face, his hands squeezing my cheeks until it hurts. His eyes become a hurricane, and even though they are angry, sadness still dances behind the storm. My chest aches as if a ton of lead is pressing down on my torso. But I push away the remorse; it can’t surface now. I need to maintain my defenses, push this man away at any cost. And I reach my goal when he pulls away and circles my body, leaving a warm trail where he stood. Nate keeps stepping heavily, his footsteps loud, and then his fist explodes against the mirror in my room, releasing the absurd wreckage I caused in his mind, making it echo with his blow. His hand bleeds with the shards of glass shattering against it.
I triggered him on purpose.
I need to push him away!
I want him to stop being sweet and get out of my room.
I’m low, dirty, and I’ve become this way! I didn’t just match him; I surpassed him in being a jerk. And I won’t stop!
“See? An explosive delinquent. You did that so you wouldn’t hit me, right?” I jab at him, my voice acidic, knowing my gaze is like that of a snake, every time my voice rises, and I strike.
“I would never hit you, Isabela!” His voice is a thread, almost tearful, but it rises and thickens as he continues. “I’d rather explode outward than the way you do to yourself. I explode and take it out on things, not my body. Maybe you should go to a psychiatrist, Little Sun, because it seems I’m not the only Border in this room. But I’ve already embraced my flaw. And you?” he retorts, and I feel the blow of his words, swallowing the knot they create in my throat. “And stay away from me, girl, I’ve told you! You’ve crossed boundaries now, on purpose. Don’t complain when I suck your soul out!”
I feel fear as my skin tingles with the sudden chill that overtakes my body. His voice sounds like thunder. And I know he’s capable of it, of sucking me dry, because he’s already doing it. But I have to maintain my shields, continue being the bitch of the story:"

“Maybe in the end, I’ll suck yours dry,” I taunt, pretending I’m not shattered into thousands of bloody pieces as I cross my arms over my bare chest. Nate bounces in front of me like he does when he’s trying to contain himself from losing it, hopping around like a fighter. He shakes his head back and forth, then turns and kicks the bedroom door hard enough to make the wood echo. Then he screams—actually roars—and I can see the vein in his neck almost bursting from the side. I watch him get dressed quickly and roughly, trembling with breath so heavy it sounds like an animal. And when he yanks the doorknob with brutality, I hear a “fucking bitch” muttered under his breath. “And you’re the one who came to me. Stop being such a victim!”
That’s the last trigger I give him. Like a wicked bitch, I finish my attack on his mind, knowing it hurts him to hear that he plays the victim, one of the stigmas he faces because of his disorder. I hear the frantic kicks he’s delivering to my door from the outside before he storms off, the wood creaking as if it might break. Only then do I allow myself to cry.
God! I exhale a breath that seems to expel the insensitive bitch, letting guilt take over. I’m such a damn cow! I’m cruel as hell! What kind of shit is my life turning into?
Maybe I’m not Little Red Riding Hood in this story. I think I’m quite capable of becoming a Big Bad Wolf. I don’t even need a full moon for that. Just threaten me, put me in danger, and bam—I’m a weapon capable of killing someone with my cruel words and actions.
With my shields up against the man I loved, I pushed him away in the only way I could. I defended myself with a low blow, without any shame. I know that in the end, I only retaliated for what he did to me by mocking my trauma with his touches, even knowing the abuse I endured at home for years on end. And it hurt so much that he awakened someone who could inflict the same pain on him.
I scream, loudly, feeling my throat burn just as much as my eyes do.