I should have killed him.
Iwouldhave killed him if he hadn’t disappeared before my release. I’d let myself believe Rowan took care of it and just didn’t bother telling me. A stupid, comforting lie I never allowed myself to examine.
Because Rowanwouldhave told me. He would have bragged.
Blood roars in my ears, drowning out the apartment, the city, everything except the pounding truth settling into my bones.
I’ve taken on a new name, stayed off social media, and become the closest thing to a ghost possible.
But he found me, anyway.
“Saint, what is it?”
Gabriel’s question breaks through the roaring in my head, distant and muffled as if he’s speaking underwater. I’d forgotten he was here, watching me fall apart over a photograph he can’t see.
He steps toward me, one hand outstretched, and in my trauma-wired brain, the movement registers as a threat.
I jerk backward, shoulder blades hitting the wall, the photo clutched tightly to my chest where he can’t see it. Not violent, not angry. No, it’s so much worse. It’s pure, unfiltered fear.
Gabriel freezes, hands lifted in confusion, palms facing me in the universal sign of peace. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I know that. Somewhere beneath the panic, I understand that Gabriel isn’t him. But knowledge can’t override the signals firing through my nervous system, can’t stop the cold sweat beading along my spine or the tremors that start in my fingertips and radiate up my arms.
The silence between us grows thick, heavy with questions I can’t answer and explanations I can’t give. How do I tell him that the man who hurt me as a child might be back? How do I explain the darkness that lives inside me, born in a concrete cell where no one cared when I screamed?
“Let me help you,” Gabriel tries again, like someone talking to a wounded animal. He doesn’t move closer, respecting the invisible barrier between us.
“I don’t need help.”
We both hear the lie, but some lies are necessary survival tools.
Gabriel studies me, his face unreadable in the shadows of my unlit apartment. His body shifts, weight transferring from one foot to the other. I tense, preparing for him to push, to demand answers I can’t give.
Instead, he steps back, putting more distance between us. “Okay.”
The single word carries layers of meaning. Okay, I’ll back off. Okay, I’ll respect your space. Okay, I’m still here when you’re ready.
I could tell him.
About the photo.
About the guard.
About the part of my past that never stopped haunting me.
And maybe if I do, he’ll realize I’m too much work, too broken, and he’ll finally leave me alone.
14
“Saint?” Gabriel whispers.
No, I’m not brave enough to lay my demons bare for this man who grew up with a golden spoon in his mouth.
“Get out.” The words scrape my throat raw. “Just go.”
“I’m not leaving.” Gabriel returns to the door and closes it behind him with a soft click that echoes in the silence. The sliver of hall light vanishes, plunging us into deeper darkness, with only the glow of the city filtering through my blinds.
I turn away from him, toward the window, my fingers crushing the picture in a desperate grip.
