No man could love her more, be better for her than me, yet the asshole doesn’t care about that. What does it say about me if my fucking best friend thinks I am not good enough for her.
“What if it’s her? I didn’t forbid you to be with mine.” I snap.
“Don’t play this game, fucker,” he says, voice dropping to a glacial tone that I half expect some frost to layer my office.
“Game?” I shake my head, blowing a harsh breath out. “Me loving her is not a fucking game.”
“Don’t,” he grits out as if giving me a way out.
I jerk my head toward the elevator. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
“If you ever have the guts to tell that to my face again when you’re sober, tell me first what happened.”
“Do you think you could actually kill me?” I challenge, done with living, apparently.
“If we don’t have complete trust and loyalty, then we have fucking nothing,” he says through gritted teeth, and marches straight for the elevator.
“I would die for you. But I’ve lived for her,” I confess, not bothering to care any longer.
The elevator doors slide shut, but not before he slants me another glare. “Sober the fuck up.”
Knowing him, he will try to salvage our brotherhood by putting it on my drunk ass.
But no, this thing—my love, soaked in obsession and coated with madness, crawls out of me, wanting to be in the open.
And sooner rather than later, it will blow up in my damn face.
29
DAHLIA
He hasn’t come to visit me in a whole week, and I’ve crawled so deep into a hole of destitution that I doubt I will ever find my way out.
Calla has tried and failed.
My brother has tried and failed.
I play, I eat, I compulsively watch the cameras for him and then sleep for a bit.
That’s all I’ve been doing.
Days and nights have blended into a half-awake state. I exist in this purgatory called life.
I want my Paris life back.
I want him back.
But I can’t have any of it. Every time I remember that, I dig deeper into the tunnel of agony.
The hours trickle by, insensitive to my pain.
There are no texts.
No calls.
No contact.
I expect Calla or my brother to show up. My mother is the only one who seems to understand my grief, leaving me alone.
