I have to believe that. Ineedto believe she hates me. Because if she doesn’t...
He leans forward, his gaze heavy with understanding. “You’re riddled with guilt, and you don’t see it. She’s hurt. Deeply. But she still fucking loves you.”
He stands, jabs a finger at me. “Keep going to therapy. It’ll help you win her back.”
His stupid manipulation tactics were always see-through to me, but I don’t call him out on it.
Instead, I raise a brow. “How does Temperance feel about you getting involved in this?”
He sucks in a breath, and glares. “She doesn’t feel anything, because she doesn’t know. And she’s not gonna find out. Right?”
I nod sharply. He nods back. Understood.
Two hours later, I slam my laptop shut and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. It’s pitch-black — I didn’t bother with the lights — so really, I’m just looking at nothing.
I’ve been fighting with my own thoughts ever since Bones left. The urge to go after Adora is riding me like a motherfucker. Iwant to go to her. Ask if she still feels it. If she remembers. If there’s any chance we could ever heal together, not apart.
But I’m fucking afraid.
I haven’t felt fear since I was a kid. Not even in prison. There, all I felt was rage. But now? Now I’m scared shitless. Because what if I go to her, and all I do is hurt her again?
Fuck. Everyone’s right. I do need therapy.
This whole train of thought sounds insane, even to me. I signed the divorce papers a few days ago, for fuck’s sake.
I’m snapped out of it when the door suddenly opens. A tiny devil slips in, shuts it quietly, then starts lightly banging her forehead against it.
“I can’t kill him. I can’t kill him. Can I? No. I can’t. But I should,” she mutters fast, forehead still tapping the door.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
She yelps, whirls around, and jumps in place.
“You scared me, Polterbitch!” she snaps, voice an octave too high.
I can barely make out her silhouette as she fumbles for the light switch, breathing fast.
“Right side of the door,” I say, and wait.
When she finally finds it, I reach for the mini fridge beside me and pull out a beer.
“Want one?” I ask, pointing the bottle at her.
“No,” she breathes, still glancing around. “Shit. I didn’t know this was your office. I was just looking for a place to hide.” She rummages through her skirt pockets, pulls out a small bag, and holds it up. “And to light up a joint.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“Okay,” I say slowly, putting the beer back without taking my eyes off her. “There’s no smoking inside my office, Ria.”
“Pffft,” she huffs. “First you’re all about car safety. Now no getting lit? You really are the worst outlaw there is, Polterbitch.”
“I see we’re sticking with that one,” I mutter. I’m not even annoyed by the names anymore. She’s trained me like a fucking dog. “I never said no smoking joints. I said no smoking inmy office. The smell lingers. I don’t like it.”
I get up, shove my phone in my pocket, and round the desk.
“I know a place where you can hide,” I say, nodding toward the bag in her hand, then back at her. “As long as you’re willing to share the goods.”
I could really use one right now. Might help me sleep. And I heard Fang say she’s got some strong stuff.
