The Inheritance Games Chapter Rewrites

To Feel, To Want (Ch. 15 of THL)

Summary: A rewrite of Ch. 15 from THL from the scene that takes place in the studio. There are two more rewrites of this chapter but they take place later on the roof which are actually just two versions I posted on AO3.

As if that thought had beckoned him toward me, Jameson came closer. "Let's call off the bet," he said softly.

I whipped my head up to look at him. I searched for a tell on his face, something to let me know what angle he was playing.

"This is big, Heiress." If he'd been anyone else, his voice might have sounded gentle—but the Jameson Hawthorne I knew wasn't gentle. "Big enough that neither of us needs extra motivation now. Neither of us is going to solve this alone."

There was something undeniable about the way he said the word us, but I resisted the pull of it. "I'm at the center of this." It would have been so easy to let myself get sucked back in. To let myself feel like we really were a team. "You need me."

That was what this was about. The gentle voice. Us.

"And you don't need anyone?" Jameson stepped forward. Despite every warning screeching in the back of my brain, when he reached out to touch me, I didn't pull back.

The past twelve hours had turned my entire world upside down. I needed... something. It didn't have to mean anything. There didn't have to be feelings involved. "Fine," I said, my voice rough in my throat. "Let's call off the bet."

I expected him to kiss me then—to take advantage of my moment of weakness, to push me back against the wall and wait for my head to angle up toward his, wait for a yes. He looked like he wanted to. I wanted it.

We were at a standstill and for once in my life, I didn't know whose turn it was. His move or mine? Is this what it felt like when you were facing a wall, knowing there's a way around it and the door is next to you but you chose to stare at the wall instead?

I stared at him, feeling almost helpless, glued to the spot. My eyes were stuck on his.

Your move or mine? The question hung in the air and I wanted an answer; demanded it. Needed and craved it all the same.

I was desperate to feel; his lips on mine, his arms around me, just something. Something. Anything to distract me from the swell of emotions rising in me, threatening to swallow me whole. I've had bad days and dark weeks and I survived, so why, why did this feel like my sinking point? Like I wasn't going to come back up for air and drown instead?

But I knew; I wasn't naive enough not to. My entire existence up until this moment felt like a lie; like I was the one who told it when I was actually the result of it because someone else instigated it.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and even though I hated to look like such a mess in front of anyone, I knew it wasn't sadness or grief making me this way. Just frustration.

I had plenty of it in storage from the build-up of the last few weeks and now, it was finally looking for an out. The anger would catch up to me later but right now, that wasn't the case.

Something in me right now was falling apart and I just wanted that part of my mind to quiet down, to forget for a moment, to let myself go numb. I wanted to let go and still cling to something at the same time but didn't know which I wanted more, I just knew if he gave me what I wanted it would stop hurting.

But, if my role to play in this Hawthorne mystery was the glass ballerina then this would be the one time I'd let the shards of glass dig into my palms. I would let only one Hawthorne experience me like this once, so long as Jameson forgot about it later on, even if that was an unrealistic reverie.