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It’s unsettling. Every detail we’ve gone over feels like it could be the one that ends us.
BRAELYNN
Ihaven’t touched the money yet. Although I stare at it from the bed and even as I stand here, in front of the dresser while I slip on black leggings that feel like silk and an oversized soft wool sweater, I can smell it.
Declan said the stacks added up to over a million. And it sits there, only inches away.
Letting out an uncomfortable sigh, I stare at the door and wish I were anywhere else. I wish I could simply go home or go to my mother’s.
This room is a test, this estate is a trap and it’s like I’m playing mind games with the devil every minute that ticks by.
The one question every decision seems to ride on is whether or not he loves me. Does Declan love me?
It feels like he does when he’s with me but sometimes it also feels like he’s testing me, like he’s waiting for me to fail and I know that’s not love. This could all be a sick twisted game for him. There is so much more darkness to Declan than I know. I’m all too aware he’s done things that would chill me to my core. Can a man like that truly love anyone? Let alone me?
My heart aches questioning it. Because I love him. Every dark crevice that makes him who he is … it only makes me want to love him more … even if it gets me killed.
The phone ringing on the nightstand sends a jolt of panic through me. As if I’ve been caught in the act of thinking too much, thinking about things I shouldn’t be.
I stare at it from where I am. Even though Declan gave it to me, it’s not really my phone. Even as I answer the call I know, it’s just another test.
“Mama,” I say, greeting her with a tone that’s meant to appease her.
“Nena, where are you?” Her words are riddled with so much emotion. “I’ll come pick you up.” The eagerness in her voice pains me.
“A little sick.”
“Still?” I’ve always been a bad liar and I hate to lie to my mother. I’d be a fool to think Declan or his family at least, doesn’t have this phone wired or tapped or whatever the hell they do. As I sit on the edge of the bed, I get a look at the money again. I don’t trust anything. It’s all a damn test and I just want it to be over so my life can go back to normal. Or as normal as it can ever be after all of this.
“I just want to stay in and watch shows, Mama.”
“Let me bring you soup,” she suggests, her voice hopeful. “It’s been too long that you’ve been sick. Let me check on you.”
“I’ll see you soon, Mama, but I can’t see you right now.” There’s a hesitation on her end. Silence is all I’m given and inside I’m filled with shame. So much so that tears prick the back of my eyes. How? I don’t know. They’re sore and red rimmed from days on end of sobbing. I’ve never felt so weak and helpless. So utterly fucking useless and pathetic.
“Are you angry with me?” my mother asks quietly and I have to gather my composure.
“No, no, Mama,” I say as quickly as I can.
“Is this about Travis?” It’s after she says his name that I can tell my mother is crying. It fucking kills me. I hate this. I hate all of it.
“No, Mama. Please. I just …” I want to tell her a sliver of the truth. I fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have. But instead I tell her, “I miss you, Mama, and love you. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.”
“Why can’t I see you now?” As my mother questions me, a low, steady beep comes from the window. It startles me at first; it seems like anything and everything does now. It takes a moment for me to realize it’s a truck. They’re doing construction outside like Declan told me they would. Aria’s words come back to me; she said it would be the perfect time to run.
“I have to go, Mama,” I tell her to try to get her off the phone before I say things I shouldn’t.
“You would tell me if you were hurt or if someone was hurting you, wouldn’t you?” She sniffles on the other end although with how muffled it is, it seems she’s trying to hide it from me.
“Yes,” I lie to her. “Of course I would.”
“You’re okay?” she asks again, as if she doesn’t believe me and I wish she would. I wish she would be content with the lies.
“I’m just a little sick and I don’t want to leave the bed.” She carries on for a while, poking and prodding and I continue to lie to her. Over and over until she lets me hang up the phone. I’m not lying when I tell her I love her, though, and I hope I’m not lying when I say I’ll see her soon.
My words stay with me even after the conversation is over:I’m just a little sick and I don’t want to leave the bed.
When I hang up, I realize how true those words are. I don’t want to leave the bed. I don’t want to risk seeing his family. I don’t want to risk walking down the corridor and rememberingwhat happened in the room with the tub. I can barely breathe thinking about it now. As I lower myself to the mattress, I realize just how paralyzing this situation is.
