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"I need some more money."
"Okay. How much?"
"Couple grand."
I furrow my brows. Where is all this money going? I send her at least a grand every month.
"Okay," I mutter. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"Do elaborate."
"Why? You're just a contorted voice. You might not even be a real person."
I chuckle. "I assure you, I'm very real."
Austin's screams come through the baby monitor and I curse softly.
"You got a kid?"
"Y-Yeah," I manage, grabbing my laptop as I head into the nursery. Fuck. What if she realizes it's me?
"How old is he?"
I'm the one ignoring her question this time. I put the pacifier back in Austin's mouth and he happily sucks on it as I go back to the study.
"I don't really know anything about you," Willa muses. "Why are you so secretive?"
"You don't need to know, it would only make you hate me," I mutter in reply.
"Why?" She laughs. "Are you a bad man?"
I contemplate her words, not knowing how to reply. Finally, I say, "Maybe."
"How bad?"
"You don't want to know."
"Secretive again. But that's fine, TyrantDaddy. One day you'll tell me more about yourself. And until then, I'll just take your money."
I smirk before my expression falls. "Are you sure everything's okay with you?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You haven't let me see you in three months."
"It's kind of weird talking to a black screen."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You're very apologetic," she mutters. "You know, I'd let you see me right now. As long as you turn on your camera, too."
My heart starts racing at the thought, but I quickly banish it from my mind. I can't do it. I can't let her see it's me – she's finally moved on, and she deserves to be free of my clutches.
"I can't," I admit brokenly, the generator contorting my voice into something dull, robotic. No emotion. Just the way it should be.
"Okay," she says carelessly. "Send me the money and I'll send you some photos."
"Okay," I say. "And I –"
She ends the call before I can stop her.
I close my eyes and tell myself not to worry. I have no power over what Willa does now. She's on her own, and it's better that way. I would've only hurt her more by telling her it was me on the other end of the line.
I send over the money and tell myself it's going to be okay. As long as I get my fix of Willa, I'm as happy as I can be.
I don't deserve anything better, anyway. I made the right choice for my son; I can't go back on it now. I'm not the selfish man I used to be, and yet I can't help but regret walking away from Willa.
My phone pings with some incoming photos. I look at them, groaning at the sight of Willa. I was right – she's lost a lot of weight. She's wearing a faraway look in all the photos, as if her mind's caught in some fairytale land where nothing bad ever happens. But I can see the pain too. This is the first time she's let me see her this vulnerable, at least as TyrantDaddy. But even now, I can't let this go any further than it already has.
I force myself not to reply to her pictures. Instead, I check on my son and prepare his bottle. I keep an eye on him until I get too tired, then crawl into bed in the guest bedroom feeling defeated.
I may have done the right thing, but on nights like this, I miss Willa so badly it physically hurts. And no amount of telling myself this is what she deserves will convince me it's true.
Chapter 23
Willa
Life in New York is different. I'm different.
Some days are good. I eat, I fantasize. I live in a make-believe world where anything I imagine is true in my mind.
But some days are bad. Really fucking bad – with no food but plenty of other things to keep me going.
It's early evening and I've been without a hit for a week. We can't afford it right now, but I've promised myself for the umpteenth time I'm really going to quit this time, and I really don't want to break my promise to myself again.
I shift position on the sofa, looking at the apartment Theo gave us through objective eyes.
Anyone would be able to see Mercy, Scott and I have wrecked this place.
The expensive leather couch has slashes and cigarette burns. The hardwood floors are stained with spilled drinks and there's a broken window through which there's a constant draft. A few months ago, I still cared, but now I don't. I feel utterly, completely numb. Life has won this battle and I've lost, and now there's nowhere left for me to run.
The front door slams and Mercy walks into the room, not even acknowledging me as she starts preparing her next hit with trembling hands. I watch her impassively, barely recognizing my once vivacious best friend.
