Different

13.

My heart stumbles as soon as I see Jace moving toward us. This is really happening—he's heading straight for me. I break eye contact instantly, stopping mid-dance. Panic flares in my chest. Should I leave the room? What the hell did I do?

"We're talking. Now," Jace hisses in my ear, his grip tight as he yanks me away like I'm some misbehaving kid.

"Hey!" the blond guy I was dancing with protests.

Jace throws him a rough but restrained shove. "Fuck off," he snaps, eyes dark and furious.

The guy stares at me like what just happened?, but I avoid his gaze and silently thank him when he chooses not to make a scene. Jace tugs me away, leading us toward the stairs. I already know where we're going—the same room from last week. Every step feels like it drags eyes along my back. I can only imagine what people are thinking. I try to block it out.

Just before we reach the room, I find my courage again.

"What do you think you're doing?" I snap, yanking my hand from his grip.

Jace opens the door, shoves it shut behind us, and locks it. The music fades, replaced by the hum of silence. That's when it hits me—how drunk I really am. It always catches up in the quiet.

Jace exhales sharply and crosses his arms.

"How much have you had to drink?" he asks, his tone calm but strained.

His T-shirt rides up a little, revealing more of his tattoos. I tear my eyes away before I get too distracted.

"None of your business," I bite back. "You're treating me like a child and I don't like it."

I cross my arms, mirroring him.

"Then stop acting like one," he shoots back, stepping in close.

His breath warms my face. I stiffen, intimidated by his presence.

"What did I even do? I was just having fun."

"Yeah? Looked like you were having a lot of fun—with him, and don't think I didn't see you with that guy in the kitchen."

He's seething now, his voice rising.

He saw that too? My stomach turns. I brace myself.

"You don't own me, Jace. I can talk to whoever I want," I argue, trying to keep my voice steady. "And if you're so busy watching me, maybe look closer next time. I didn't want that guy in the kitchen anywhere near me."

A beat of silence stretches between us. Then I say it, ready to talk about what I saw last week.

"Don't you have better things to do anyway? Like selling drugs?"

He scoffs, as if I just flipped a switch.

"Here we go. So now you want to talk?"

"I had to process, Jace," I say quietly, arms wrapped around myself now.

"Process? You mean judge."

"Who said I was judging? It's just... it's a lot to find out about someone you—" I stop myself.

"You what?" he presses, voice softer now.

I look away. The room tilts slightly and the nausea in my stomach creeps higher. The arguing doesn't make it any better.

"I just don't get you," I mutter. "You ignore me for a week, and then you pull me away like I did something bad."

He's silent. He knows I'm not wrong.