The texts keep coming:
Thad:You think you're safe with him? You're not.
Thad:I saw you this morning. You look tired. Not sleeping well?
Thad:This isn't over, Savannah. It will never be over.
I stop eating because my stomach is in constant knots. When Romeo forces me to try—soup, toast, anything—I can barely keep it down. The nausea from the pregnancy is worse now, compounded by the anxiety, and I spend half my time in the bathroom dry-heaving while Romeo holds my hair back andlooks increasingly desperate. Oddly, it brings us closer together, because I can tell Romeo is doing everything in his power to take care of me, even though none of this comes naturally to him. Or at least—it didn’t before me.
I'm not sleeping. Every time I close my eyes, I see Thad's face or my father's. Romeo doesn't sleep much either. He stays awake watching me, and I can feel his eyes on me in the dark.
"You need to eat something," he says on the fourth morning. There's a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me that makes my stomach turn.
"I can't." My voice sounds hollow. "I'm sorry. I just—I can't."
"You're pregnant." His voice cracks on the word. "You need to eat. The baby needs?—"
"I know what the baby needs." I'm snapping at him, and I know it's not fair, but I can't seem to stop. "I know I'm supposed to be taking care of myself. I know I'm supposed to be eating and sleeping and staying calm. But I can't. I can't do any of it. And I don't?—"
I stop myself before I say it. Before I admit that I don't feel connected to the pregnancy at all anymore. It feels like something happening to someone else's body. When I think about the baby, all I feel is terror and numbness—and a desperate wish that I could go back to before any of this started.
Except I can’t think of how I would do anything differently. It all feels inevitable. And I don’t regret Romeo. That, I can’t bring myself to regret in any possible way.
"Savannah." Romeo’s hands are on my face, forcing me to look at him. "Talk to me. Please. Tell me what you need."
"I need it to stop." The words come out as a whisper. "I need Thad to stop. I need my father to stop. I need?—"
My voice breaks, and Romeo pulls me into his arms.
"I'm going to fix this," he says against my hair. "I promise. I'm going to make it stop."
But I don't see how he can. Because we're trapped, caught between my father's ambitions and Thad's obsessive need for control. There's no way out that doesn't end in someone getting hurt.
The next day, Thad corners me outside the library.
I'm with Marco and Tony, but Thad doesn't seem to care. He steps directly into my path, and his smile is cold.
"Savannah." His voice is pleasant, conversational, like we're old friends running into each other. "We need to talk."
"She doesn't want to talk to you." Marco moves between us, but Thad doesn't back down.
"I'm talking to my fiancée. This doesn't concern you."
"Ex-fiancée," I manage to say, though my voice is shaking. "And I have nothing to say to you."
"Really?" Thad's eyes are fixed on me, and there's something in them that makes my blood run cold. "Not even about the baby?"
The words hit me like a slap, and I can feel other students stopping and staring, listening.
"That's not—I never said?—"
"Your father told me." Thad takes a step closer, and Marco's hand goes to his jacket. "He told me everything. About your affair. About the pregnancy. About how you've been lying to everyone."
"Mr. Whitmore." Tony's voice is hard. "You need to step back. Now."
"Or what?" Thad's smile widens. "You'll shoot me? On a college campus? In front of witnesses?" He looks around at the growing crowd of students. "I don't think so."
"Thad, please." I'm begging now, and I hate myself for it. "Just leave me alone. Just?—"
