I am almost at the door when he says to my back, stopping me in my tracks. “You know what hurts the most? What will always destroy me again and fucking again. That you don’t ask me why the fuck I did it?”
“I don’t need to hear the reason to know nothing he did could have ever been bad enough to kill him. The man who raised me. The man who loved me. The man who trusted you, let you into his house. Your mistake was letting me witness it. You could have simply packaged it differently.”
“And that’s my only regret.”
That’s his regret. The asshole. No, I can’t forgive him. I won’t.
I square my shoulders and spin around just to let him witness my determination not to forgive him.
He lets out a deprecating laugh. “You were supposed to stay by my side. Trust me. But it was all pretty lies.”
If the asshole weren’t already injured and my only chance to get out of here, I would have ended him right this instant.
“And the fucking saddest thing is, it doesn’t matter. I still love you like the biggest idiot this world has ever known.”
“No one needs a love like yours. Me the least,” I say, the lie twisting my heart.
How many times can your damn heart break?
He opens his mouth, surely to say something equally hurtful, but he clamps it shut.
He can’t, and now I understand why his uncle said that he loves me too much.
31
VIAN
Silence weighs heavily, dragging me to the pits of hell.
After three days of tiptoeing around each other, we’re at a stalemate. I expected resistance, but her defenses crack whenever she takes care of me, offering me medicine, wetting a cloth to wash me.
Every time I attempt to leave the bed, she glares at me, so I stay put not to upset her more. While I trap her here, she’s the one holding me captive.
My wounds have healed, and I am regaining my strength. Physically, at least, because my heart lies in tatters.
The last words she said to me run through my head on repeat, pouring acid and dissolving my brain matter.No one needs a love like yours. Me, the least.
I don’t know what to do. All I know is that I love her. I love her so much that I can’t fathom losing her. I wasn’t joking when I said she either stays or she kills me.
Sliding out of bed, I go to the bathroom and stare at my reflection. Pale skin. Dark circles. My body is not as fit as usual, lacking vigor.
Gripping the sink’s edge, I let my head hang, pent-up energy wreaking chaos through my body.
Stepping inside the shower, I pull off the bandages. A crust has formed around the wounds, which is a good sign.
The water cascades down my body, doing nothing to ease my stiff muscles. Bracing against the wall, I stay rooted in place until I sense her. My heart picks up speed, racing in my chest. Every sense is aware of her nearness, sending a thrill through me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, annoyance thick in her voice.
“What the fuck do you care?” I expel a heavy breath, exhausted to my bones.
Our eyes lock, and after three days, the contact seizes my breath. There she is. The love of my life. My woman––under layers of hurt and dejection, she cares. Even if she doesn’t want to.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because hurting her makes me want to do the job myself—end me. All I’ve ever desired was to make her happy. All I’ve ever done is push her past her limits.
My chest rocks with a pant, followed by a sob. I am falling apart, and I don’t care that she sees I am a broken man, falling to my knees with no strength left because I’ve lost her.
On my ass, my arms rest on my knees, face tipped down.
