Page 17 of Prince of Wrath

“Earn?”

“I had dinner with him. Cole. In my underwear, in another cell with a stupid romantic setting and candles, and he forced me to eat with my hands, like, like a dog. But I needed the blanket to get warm. I really needed it,” I try to explain as he winces.

“Ella, don’t. Don’t justify. It’s… Anyone would have done the same thing.”

“But I had a choice, and I let him do that. I let him treat me like that.”

“You didn’t have a choice. It was either this or die in your sleep from hypothermia.”

“But…”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I did everything wrong, can’t you see it?” I squeeze my eyes, wishing I could disappear into a wall and stay there, where no one could see me. Palm on his heart, he looks away, his voice low and broken.

“I did everything wrong. It’s on me, Ella. On me.” A minute stretches, then another, as the glow of the parking lot lights shines through the window. When did I eat last? Did I sleep all day?

“What time is it?” My eyes are suddenly sleepy, a brain fog coming in.

“Ten. You slept all day.”

“Why did you stay?” He frowns, offended.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you seem to have a lot of work to catch up on, and things to fix because of…” I wave at myself, the cause of all this trouble.

“Everything can wait.”

“No, not everything. There are so many people counting on you.” His face drifts, looking at the stars.

“You need me,” he states, looking back at me, piercing the walls I am trying to build between us. “Ella, look at me.” I shake my head. I deserve to be alone, after acting so stupidly and putting him at risk to save me. I do not deserve his attention, his care. “You need me, sweetheart. Look at me.” My chin rises, slowly, meeting his gaze. “And I need you even more.” He nods, imprinting the words into both of us. “Eat before sleeping again. I’ll be right here in case you have another nightmare.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Here.”

“No, you can’t. Your back.”

“I really don’t mind,” he shrugs, dragging the chair closer to my bed.

Sleep on the floor. Animal. Cold. Concrete. Cold. Rinse. Repeat.

“No.” I stand, losing balance, his hand reaching out, searching to steady me, and the awful, unpredicted betrayal of my senses happens. I recoil. Tristan tries to catch me in my fall, and I flinch and step back.

“God, I’m so sorry,” I say silently.

“It’s, there’s no… Ella, it’s okay.” He steps back, but his voice cracks and a spark of fear shines on his face as he retreats, circling the bed and heading straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Tristan

I have never cried in my life. Not when my father died. Not when they lowered him into the earth, and pain put its mouth to my ear and begged me to make a sound. But there is a first time for everything. I stand over the sink with both hands braced on the porcelain, my knuckles white, my breath coming in shallow, useless pulls. The tap drips once. Twice. I do not look up. The mirror waits above me, holding the version of me I refuse to meet. If I see my face now, I will put my fist through the glass, and the blood, the shards, the violence of it would only prove the point.

Ella is afraid of me.

The thought opens inside my chest like a blade. I wanted to be the opposite of my father. That was the whole stupid guideline of my life. Building myself against him, brick by brick. I would not shout. I would not hit. I would not make a house tremble when I entered it. His reign of violence was supposed to end with me. A tear slips down and settles along my jaw, warm as shame. I crush it with the back of my hand before it can fall.

I stay there for what seems like an eternity. Thirty minutes. Maybe more. Time presses its damp hands to the back of my neck while I stand there, petrified by my own nature. When I finally return to the room, the lights are low. Someone has brought her a tray. Half the food is gone. Good. She’s curled on her side beneath the sheet, one hand tucked under her cheek, her face wet and flushed from people who cried too much to be able to hide it later.