“No… sorry.”
Again, I start to move past him, but his grip on my elbow only tightens, refusing to let me move an inch. “Don’t lie to me, Amira. I know what I heard… talk to me, angel.”
I can’t.
I can’t stand here and let him inside the hurricane that is my mind. Whatever happens, Roman cannot know that suddenly Gabriel is everywhere I turn… that I hear his voice whispering in my ear at random moments of the day, or that sometimes when Roman touches me, all I can feel are Gabriel's slimy fingers crawling up my thighs.
Roman can’t know.
“There’s nothing to say. Come on, let’s go to bed.” I remove his hand from my arm to intertwine our fingers.
His skeptical gaze burns holes into the back of my head as I lead us back to the room.
Guilt from my deception claws at my heartstrings, making me feel sick for lying to Roman when I know all he wants to do is help me. He just doesn’t understand what I went through and how it’s affecting me now.
Yes, he does. He knows exactly what you went through.
He watched your mom go through it.
Remember?
The reminder has me faltering in my steps, tripping over my own two feet as we approach the bed.
“Woah. Are you okay?” he asks, hands coming to sit on my hips, preventing me from falling face-first into the corner of the mattress.
I shake off his touch, needing to put some distance between us as the thought runs through my mind.
Pulling the blankets back, I get into bed, a little taken back at the burst of anger that takes over my senses. I’m used to being angry, but never at Roman.
Do we argue? Absolutely, what couple doesn’t? But never since I’ve known him have I felt such intense anger that it resembled hate.
I don’t hate Roman, I never could, but as I lie in bed, drawing the covers to rest under my chin, outrage is all I feel.
Just like my mother, Roman left me to deal with Gabriel, Liam, and all the others on my own.
Was that his intention? No, but the outcome is all the same.
My heart finds Roman guilty, and that’s a tough pill to swallow.
Lying on my side, I feel Roman snuggle behind me, wrapping his thick, muscled, tattooed arm around my waist, pulling me close.
I can feel his heart thumping against my spine, and it makes me wonder if he can feel mine breaking in his palm.
I have too many thoughts and memories running through my head to fall back asleep, so I stare at the wall until I see the sun start to rise over the horizon. Vibrant shades of sienna orange and sunflower gold washing the room in a soft light.
My eyes burn from staring at the blinking red numbers on the clock. It’s five past seven in the morning, and my body pleads for sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I only see two things.
My father, who’s not really my father, preparing him and his band of rapist friends and son for a night of games at my expense.
And Roman… a willing participant.
Even though I know he wasn’t, the facts are jumbled from my lack of sleep, turning truths into lies.
Roman’s sleepy groan reverberates loudly in my ear, his hot, stale breath blowing across my face as he rubs his cheek against mine.
“How did you sleep, angel?” he asks, kissing me lightly on the shell of my ear.
“Perfect.”
