Turning my back to the room, I bow my head, putting a hand on the wall as I close my eyes, so many thoughts spinning through my mind that I’m dizzy. I suck in one deep breath, then another. Concentrating on nothing but my breathing until I feel centred again. In control of myself.
The week has been exhausting and exhilarating. Running the gamut of emotions until I feel wrung out, spent. Yet it’s still demanding more of me.
I want to run but running away is what children do. I’m an adult. Whatever surprises this week has left for me, it’s time I face them head on.
I turn back to the room. See the tableau of people who have never felt less like family.
Picking my first target, I stride up to Micah.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
CRIMSON
My fiancé no longer looks like the man I was about to recite my vows to. His morning coat is spattered with blood and his lower lip is swelling to a grotesque parody of its usual perfection.
The appalled celebrant has backed up to the window, eyes glancing to the side as though wondering if he’d survive a jump.
I stand in front of him, forcing my hands to uncurl from fists. “You said you can explain. Do it.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again but falters. Then, “I never meant—”
But I’ve heard that feeble excuse already.
“Read it.” I hand my phone across to him, swiping to wake the screen. “Read that back to me and tell me how you thought sending that to your brother wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I should have turned you in when I had the chance,” my father says, shaking free of his old friend and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the carpet. “See how your cellmate would react to your bloody mind games.”
“No. You don’t get to talk yet,” I say to my father, struggling to contain my fury, my volume increasing beyond acceptable levels. “Don’t you dare say a word until I tell you to speak.”
Micah sags, resting against the high edge of the sofa, pressing a hand to his bleeding lip. He has my phone in his hand, but he doesn’t glance at it. His eyes search mine, looking exhausted and frail. Like he’s aged sixty years in the space of a morning.
“It was spur of the moment.” His throat works, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as though he has to cough up every word. Like they’re reluctant to be spoken.
I can feel the stares from the rest of the room as they watch on but all I’m focused on is Micah. Willing him to say something that will make all of this go away. The hurt. The shame. The betrayal.
“It was just a stupid instant of revenge that I regretted the second it was done.”
He certainly looks like he regrets it now but that’s of no help to anybody. “Not enough to talk to me about it.”
He shakes his head, and I can see in his eyes that the idea never occurred to him.
“You regretted it so much that you thought you’d just do nothing and hope it all went away?”
He takes hold of my arm, but I jerk it free. “No. You don’t get to comfort me. Not when you’re the one who caused this mess. When that doctor was here, you said we shouldn’t have any secrets, but that’s not what you meant, was it? You meant,I’mnot allowed to have secrets and you’re allowed to carry on doing exactly what you want to.”
“Stop talking to him, Crimson. We’re leaving.”
I glare at a spot of blood on the carpet, so I don’t turn the rage onto my father. That this argument should have taken place in private is just another grudge to hold against the man I’d fooled myself into thinking I loved.
Except I did love him. Do love him. That’s why the betrayal cuts so deeply.
“You did all these things you thought you’re meant to, but you never gave a second’s thought to me at all, did you?” When he doesn’t answer I stamp my foot in frustration. “It’s like this bloody awful apartment. You spend all the money because you know you’re meant to have a nice place to live, but you didn’t actually think about it, did you? Didn’t consider how it would feel to inhabit this space.”
I sweep my arm to the side. “You’ve got this fantastic view and you can’t even sit down in comfort to enjoy it.”
He stands fully upright again, reaching for my hand, but I keep it out of reach. A tiny limb ballet where one pursues, and one escapes. I wrench my phone back from his limp fingers, tucking it inside my bra. The tiredness spread across his face is nothing compared to the bone-deep exhaustion spreading through me like a disease.
“Just give me a chance,” he pleads. “I’ll prove to you I’ll do better.”
