"So instead you just pushed me away." I scramble out of the bed. "You made me feel unwanted and undesirable and like I was some burden you had to carry. Do you have any idea how that felt? For so long?—"
"I was trying to protect you?—"
"From what?" I whirl on him. "From yourself? Because you thought you weren't good enough for me? Or were you justtrying to protect yourself from having to actually deal with the punishment the Council gave you?"
His lips press together tightly. "That's not fair."
"Fair?" The word comes out as a shriek. "You want to talk to me about fair? I lost my father. I lost my sister. I lost my brother and found out that he was a monster. I was forced to marry a stranger who made it very clear he didn't want me. I was shot at, attacked, and dragged across an ocean to a country where I don't know anyone. And through all of it, through everything, I tried to make the best of it. I tried to be understanding, tried to give you space, tried not to be the burden Iclearlywas?—"
"You’re not a burden to me now," he insists, but I'm not listening anymore.
"And then, finally, finally, I thought maybe something was changing between us. I thought maybe you actually wanted me. That maybe I wasn't just some obligation you were stuck with." I'm sobbing now, my hands shaking. "But no. I was right all along. I was just the thing you were stuck with. And I was stupid enough to think it could be anything else."
"Maeve, stop." He grabs my arm, and I yank it away.
"Don't touch me."
"Please, just listen?—"
“No.” I back toward the door, unsure of where I’m going, but feeling as if I can’t stay in the room with him for a second longer. "No, I'm done listening. I'm done trying to understand. I'm done making excuses for you."
"Where are you going?" There's panic in his voice now.
"Away from you." I yank open the door, and he springs out of the bed, coming toward me.
"You can't leave. It's not safe?—"
"I don't care." And I mean it. In this moment, I don't care about Brennan or threats or safety. I just need to get awayfrom Sean, away from the apartment, away from the suffocating weight of knowing I was never wanted.
Just like everyone else I’ve ever hoped might care for me, might love me, might want me.
No one ever really does, in the end.
"Maeve, please?—"
I dodge around him, and he's slowed down by his injuries enough that I make it past. I run through the living room, and I can hear him behind me, calling my name, but I don't stop.
I wrench open the apartment door and run for the stairs, taking them two at a time. My vision is blurred with tears, and I nearly trip twice, but I keep going. I can hear Sean above me, shouting my name, and that just makes me go faster.
I burst out onto the Dublin street, and the frigid February air whips at my face. I forgot that I was in only my sleepwear—silky shorts and a tank top—or that I was barefoot. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know this city at all, I don’t have a phone or money. But none of that feels like it matters right now. I just run.
I have to get away. I have to be somewhere else.
Behind me, I hear Sean shout my name, closer now, and I push myself harder. I turn down a side street, then another, weaving through the late evening passersby. People stare at me—a crying girl in inappropriate clothing running like her life depends on it—but no one stops me.
My lungs are burning, my legs aching, but I keep running. I can't face him, can't go back to that apartment knowing what I know. I can't look at him without seeing the truth written all over his face, that I was a punishment. An obligation. The burden he was forced to bear.
He didn't want me. He was being forced to have me, and every moment we were together was a reminder of his failure.
And I was so pathetic. So desperate for any scrap of affection or attention. I was so fuckinghappywhen he was kind to me, soawed by his observations about me being strong enough, good enough at anything. I was so hungry for him that it makes me feel, now, like I want to sink into the street and die.
The entire time, he was just enduring me.
I finally stop running when I can't hear Sean behind me anymore. I'm in some part of town I don't recognize, on a narrow street lined with closed shops and a few scattered pedestrians. My chest is heaving, my face is wet with tears, and I have no idea what to do now.
The reality of my situation starts to sink in. I'm alone in a foreign city with no phone, no money, and no way or idea of how to get back to the apartment even if I wanted to. Which I don't. I never want to go back there. I never want to see the bed where we made love—no, where we had sex.Because it wasn't making love, was it? It was him making the best of a bad situation. Deciding that if he was stuck with me, he might as well use me.
The thought makes me feel physically sick. I stumble to a nearby wall and lean against it, trying to catch my breath, trying to think through the fog of hurt and humiliation.
