“I’m not lying. I’ve had time to think, standing here with you, and maybe… maybe you’re right. Maybe I did give up too easily. Maybe I should have stayed and worked things out instead of running away like I always do.”
The knife wobbles against my throat. “You’re just saying that because you’re scared.”
“I am scared. But that doesn’t mean I’m lying.” I swallow hard, wincing as the blade bobs with the movement. “We had good times, didn’t we? Before everything went wrong. Remember that trip we took to the coast? The little bed and breakfast with the terrible coffee and the creaky floors?”
“The owner kept calling me your husband.”
“And you didn’t correct her. Not once. You just smiled and went along with it.”
Something flickers in those black eyes. A memory, maybe. A piece of the real Robbie fighting to surface through the corruption that’s eating him alive.
“I wanted to marry you,” he muses, and his voice sounds almost normal for a moment. Almost human. “I had a ring picked out and everything. A princess-cut diamond, because you told me once that was your favorite. I was going to propose on your birthday.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Because you left before I could ask. You took that away from me. You took everything away from me.”
“I’m sorry.” The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force them out anyway. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain. I’m sorry I ran instead of talking to you. I was scared and hurt, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You should be sorry.”
“I know. And if you put down the knife, we can talk about it. We can sit down like two adults and figure out where things went wrong and how to fix them. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that why you came all this way?”
“I want you to come home with me.” His arm tightens again, just for a moment, before relaxing. “I want things to go back to the way they were. Before you ruined everything.”
“Then take me home.” I turn my head just enough to meet his eyes without pressing my throat harder against the blade. “Put down the knife, and we’ll walk out of here together. Right now. We’ll get in your car and drive away from this town and never look back. Just the two of us, like it used to be.”
“You’re lying.” But his voice wavers. There’s doubt there now, fighting against whatever dark thing is whispering in his ear.
“I’m not. I’m tired of running, Robbie. I’m so tired. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for months, jumping at every sound, never feeling safe anywhere I go. I can’t live like that anymore. If going with you is what it takes to make this stop, then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll choose you. I’ll choose us.”
Through the door, I see Connor’s face twist with anguish. He knows what I’m doing. He knows I’m saying whatever I have to say to survive, that none of these words are real. But knowingdoesn’t make it any easier for him to hear me promise myself to another man.
“What about your boyfriend?” Robbie asks. “The big guy with the muscles. The one who’s been sniffing around you like a dog in heat. You’re just going to leave him?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone I met here. A security guard who got a little too attached.” I make my voice dismissive, bored. “He doesn’t mean anything to me. He never did.”
The lie burns, but I keep my face neutral. Robbie has always been good at reading me. During our relationship, he used that skill to manipulate and control me. Now I have to hope that the corruption clouding his mind has dulled that ability enough for him to believe my performance.
“I don’t believe you,” he barks out.
“Then don’t. But ask yourself this: why would I lie? You have a knife to my throat, Robbie. You could kill me in a heartbeat. What possible reason would I have to make things worse for myself by feeding you false hope?”
He considers this. I can see the wheels turning behind those corrupted eyes, the logic fighting against whatever darkness has taken root in his brain. The black veins pulse slower now, like the thing inside him is thinking too.
“If I put down the knife,” he starts, “you’ll come with me? Willingly? No tricks?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t try to run the second my back is turned?”
“No.”
“And you won’t scream for help or signal your friends out there to attack me?”
“Robbie.” I let my voice soften, pouring every ounce of fake sincerity I can muster into the words. “All I want is for this to be over. I’m exhausted. I’ve been exhausted for months, ever since I left New York. If going with you means I can finally stop running, finally stop being afraid, then yes. I’ll come willingly. I won’t run. I won’t scream. I’ll just… let go.”
The knife lowers an inch. Then another. Hope ignites in my chest.
