Cyan's eyebrows lifted slightly, but he stayed still. "Nick—"
"You're not sparkling, Cyan," I said, my voice dropping lower, dripping with every ounce of disgust I could scrape together from the bottom of my stomach. "You're a mess. A fake, pathetic mess."
I saw his smile falter, just a tiny fraction of a millimeter, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I needed him to hurt.
I needed him to feel the same burning, shameful pain that was tearing through my throat right now. I needed to strip away that soft, pretty look on his face until he was bleeding right in front of me.
"You pretend you're so above everything," I said, stepping closer, crowding his space. "You act like you're just having fun, like you're just living life, but you're fucking empty. You're completely hollow inside. You don't feel a damn thing unless you're throwing yourself into some new disaster."
