My mind is spinning. I have so many questions, but none of them make sense right now. All I know is that he’s here, that he came back, and that somehow, I’m still not safe.
There’s no reason he would show up here at this time of night.None at all.
“Please. Tell me what happened,” he says.
He did this. I know he did. There’s no other explanation.
No one else would know where I am. No one else would know how to get in, how to cut the power. Only someone like a cop would know these things.
My body trembles as I try to push the thought away, but it clings to me, suffocating in its certainty.
Saint pulls me to my feet, but I fall limply against him, too weak to do anything but shake. Too upset to beat him against the chest, which I so feel like doing. The burning sensation in my wrists from the tightness of the rope is overwhelming. I instinctively rub my wrists, but the pain is too much, so I stop. Saint wraps his arms around me and says my name with such worry.
“Petra. It’s okay. I’m here.”
I’m reeling from the realization thatheis the one who caused this.Heis the one who put me through this nightmare.
“Stoppretending!” I scream. I push against him, my hands slapping him in the chest. The sting is sharp, but it’s nothing compared to the emotional pain flooding through me. He tries to grab my wrists, to stop me from hitting him, so I take a wide step back, and then I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to hold back the sobs that are bubbling up uncontrollably. My chest feels tight, my breathing shallow. The tears come harder now, and I can’t stop them. I don’t even try.
“Petra, it’s me. Saint,” he says, his voice gentle, soothing, as if he can fix everything with those two words. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
Safe.
The word feels hollow. Empty.
There’s nothing safe about this. About him.
I feel the rope still touching my ankle, so I immediately start kicking at it, desperate to get it away from me, to rid myself of any reminderof what just happened. My feet shake as I kick, my body still trembling uncontrollably. The sensation of freedom should bring relief, but it doesn’t. I feel trapped in my own skin, trapped in this moment that I can’t escape.
Saint reaches out for me again, his arms coming up to wrap me in an embrace, but the sight of him reaching for me makes something snap inside me.
I don’t want him to touch me.
Without thinking, I shove him away—hard. And I do it again. And again. He starts to take steps backward, but I move with him, pushing him over and over toward the door. It’s an instinctive reaction, fueled by anger, confusion, and sheer terror. I push him with all the strength I can muster, wanting nothing more than to get him away from me. My hands shake as I do it, my breath coming out in ragged gasps, but I don’t care. I can’t believe he thought I’d be okay with any of this.How could he think this was what I wanted?
I don’t give him time to react. I don’t even look at him once I have him out of my bedroom. I just turn and slam my bedroom door with him on the other side of it, and I run toward my bathroom, my feet moving faster than my mind can keep up with.
I slam the bathroom door shut as soon as I’m inside, my fingers fumbling for the light switch on the wall. I flip it on, desperate for the comfort of light, but nothing happens. The room stays pitch black.
The realization that he actually turned off power to the house sends another wave of panic crashing through me. My fingers tremble as I reach for the shower faucet and turn the handle to as hot as it will go. The sound of the water splashing against the tiles is the only thing I can focus on now, the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. I strip off my clothes with shaky hands and step into the shower, my breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts as the hot water hits my skin.
The water is close to scalding, but I don’t care. I let it beat down on me, hoping—praying—that it will somehow wash away the fear, theconfusion, the overwhelming sense of betrayal that’s consuming me from the inside out. I close my eyes and lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing, but nothing is helping. I’m gasping for air, each breath more frantic than the last.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
It’s too dark.
Chapter Ten
It’s too bright.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the entire bathroom is suddenly flooded in bright white light.
Rather than calm me, it only makes things worse. The fact that the power is back on—just like that—proves one thing.Saintwas the one who turned it off in the first place. He was in control the entire time. He’s the reason I was left in the dark, terrified, alone.
And then I hear it—the soft knock on the bathroom door.
“Petra?” Saint’s voice is muffled through the door, but I can hear the gentleness in his tone, the concern. It’s the same voice he’s always used with me, the voice that once made me feel safe. Now, it only makes me feel more trapped.
