I turned around and found myself still sitting on the bed. Silas sat by the bed. There was no wound on his neck.
Everything just now had been a fantasy. From beginning to end, it was all just in my head. I hadn't done anything.
"...I understand." My voice came out numb and exhausted. "I'm tired. I need to sleep."
Silas exhaled in relief and nodded. Then he stood and walked to the door. It closed softly behind him.
I waited a few minutes, making sure he was gone, before reaching under my pillow. The shard was still there.
I pulled it out. I knew I couldn't kill Silas. No matter what terrible things he'd done, no matter how much I hated him, I couldn't actually take his life. But I could force him another way.
I held the shard and slowly brought it toward my wrist. I knew he was watching. With his methods, this room definitely had cameras. Sure enough, just as the shard was about to touch my wrist, the door burst open.
Silas rushed in, terror on his face. He crossed the distance in two strides and snatched the shard away.
"Are you insane?" He grabbed my wrist with one hand, his voice shaking. "Anthea, are you fucking insane?"
I looked at him calmly. I could feel his fingers trembling where they gripped my wrist, the pressure so hard it felt like he'd crush my bones.
Silence spread between us.
"Give me two days." He finally spoke, his voice rough like it was being dragged from the depths of his throat. "Two days. I'll make a decision."
"Fine," I said, watching the pain, fear, and struggle in his eyes.
What would he choose? Would he keep me prisoner, or finally learn to let go?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Silas
I left Anthea's room clutching the ceramic shard, its edge slicing through my palm. My hand was a bloody mess. But compared to the pain in my chest, it was nothing.
I couldn't stop seeing it—the moment she picked up that shard on the monitor. My heart had damn near stopped. When I burst through the door, she'd been seconds away from pressing it to the vein in her wrist. Like living or dying didn't matter anymore. Like it was all the same to her.
Fuck. I'd die for her. A thousand times over. But I couldn't watch her die.
What the hell was I supposed to do? I thought I could control anything. But I couldn't control her.
If I kept her here, all I'd end up with was her corpse. But if I let her go, we were done. She already hated me.
I wrapped my hand and drove to Pavel's club. Before nine, I was in a booth with bottles of whiskey lined up on the table. Pavel slid in across from me, his scarred face unusually serious.
"You look like shit," he said, frowning.
"Thanks."
I poured myself a drink and threw it back. The burn down my throat did nothing for the knot in my chest.
"Talk," Pavel said, lighting a cigarette. "You didn't drag me out here to watch you drink alone."
I sat quietly for a long time. Then I told him everything. Installing cameras in Anthea's apartment. Her finding the tapes. Me locking her up. Her refusing food. Flinching from my touch. Holding a gun to my chest, then jerking it away at the last second. Tonight—trying to open her wrist with a piece of porcelain. Begging me to let her go.
Pavel exhaled a long stream of smoke.
"Christ. You really fucked this up to a whole new level." He looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
"I know."
