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The memory of my parents has filled me with darkness. Darkness I left in Russia ten years ago.
Darkness I left with the Bratva.
Chapter Nineteen
Vincent
I walk up to Ava’s door and stand by it, looking over the groves in the wood.
I couldn’t leave her to cry earlier.
I just couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t be the heartless monster or keep up this… distancing from her.
I’m still in this state of flux when it comes to her, but I know that keeping her in this room, locked away in this house, is wrong.
I stayed with her for a while and only left when I felt she wanted to be alone.
As I watched her, I got the impression that she was crying for more than Mark. It was the way she was crying that gave it away. It was like that night when I watched her through the cameras and I just knew. It felt like that old pain again.
I just got back from work, and Marguerite told me Ava stayed in her room all day and hasn’t eaten anything. Not a damn thing. Not even the cookies she likes.
It’s the earliest I’ve been home in days. It’s just gone eight. When I started off this charade, I set dinner time for eight so I would eat with her. That hasn’t happened all week, and I don’t think that’s going to happen today.
I never usually knock on the door, but I do today, at least before going in.
She’s sitting by the window again. She looks surprised to see me.
Her eyes fill with it, and her cheeks turn pink.
“You knocked,” she states, standing.
Her eyes are red and her skin blotchy. It’s clear she’s been crying all day.
“Yeah.”
She steels her spine, and there’s a visible determination in her face to shield whatever she feels. It’s a good attempt, but I don’t know if she realizes that her eyes still give her away.
Want and desire are still very much there. It throws me off guard.
I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me. I just pray I’m not as transparent as she is. Last week when we were together at the club, it was real. It’s fucking real every damn time, and I blame myself for allowing her to feel for me, teasing it out of her then being a prick. There was so much I did wrong.
“Was there something you wanted from me?” she asks.
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“So?”
I know from the tick in her jaw that she’s in that mood again where she’s being difficult. What she wants is an end date. I’m not there yet though. I’m not at the stage where I can give her one.
When she first got here, I was mad as fuck because it felt like Mark got off too lightly. Now that I’ve been with her, there’s a part of me that’s eager to explore this insane chemistry between us. Both those things are holding me back on telling her when she can go.
“I told you I need you to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I didn’t come in here to argue about food, and I didn’t come in here to get pissed at her. I have something else to talk to her about. I guess maybe it’s my way of lightening the tension and meeting her somewhere in the middle.
