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But however bad Frank was, it doesn’t compare to Gabriel’s betrayal.
Perhaps it’s silly I should think that way. I’d planned on going to the Keep regardless, so Gabriel forcing the issue changes nothing. And it’s clear he didn’t know what the people he was working for were up to.
Still, I’m angry. Hurt in a way that feels as indescribable as it is enormous. My world was shattered, but that’s only one small part of what I’m going through, because I haven’t just lost my cozy existence before the apocalypse.
I lost my dream.
Before I met Gabriel, I hated my life. If I had obeyed my stepmother and gone to my room that fateful day I spied on them talking, I honestly don’t know if I’d be alive right now. I was so close to the edge.
Until I turned eighteen, the only thing that got me through my existence was Gabe. After eighteen, I carried on despite him. I wanted him to see me one day and regret what he had turned down.
I couldn’t have predicted what would happen. How crazy life would get.
Now, I have him in a way I never could have imagined. He found me broken, in a very different kind of pain than when he left so long ago.
He hates that he wants me, though there’s no denying his lust. He thinks his desire for me makes him a bad person.
What does it say about me that I’m willing to manipulate him to have what I’ve wanted so badly for so long?
We’re like two broken wings on a bird. We can’t fly. Not yet.
The rain returns, beating its fury on the glass windows and the earth below. Matching my insides far better than words and actions ever could.
I can never return to the picture-perfect life I hated so much, and I’d never want to. I’d at least be fed and kept safe from the dead if I returned to the club, but there’s no telling if they’ll retaliate for the damages and death caused by Gabe.
If I somehow manage to escape this safe house, my only option is to go at it alone, holed up in some abandoned building. I could scavenge for food and live my life the best I can. I won’t live long, but it will be on my terms, which is something I’ve never gotten to experience, because the moment I tried showing any form of independence, things were taken from me.
When I was eighteen, I tried to leave, but my father had a new threat to force my compliance.
He sat on the board of a psychiatric hospital, and he used his position as a weapon. When I tried to give up dancing, he threatened to have me committed. His own daughter.
Because we had an image to uphold, and if I wouldn’t represent his interests, I’d be thrown in a black hole while everyone was told I was ‘off studying abroad in Europe’.
To think, when Gabriel pulled me off that stage, I’d thought I was saved.
As angry as I am, I have to remember what we’re up against. The dead aren’t only rising—they’re hungry.
Deep down, I know Gabriel isn’t the monster I’m making him out to be. We’re both in shitty situations, and I truly believe that he wants to keep me safe.
Which means there’s only one thing left to do.
I approach the door and give it three firm knocks. Less than a minute later, Gabriel answers, his face emotionless.
“I need to do something.”
“Then do it quietly,” he deadpans.
“I need your help.”
He snorts. “I figured you wouldn’t want that.”
“I need to go outside.”
Gabriel’s jaw clenches. “Like hell you do.”
“It’s not a want, Gabe. I need to see the bigger world.”
“And end up dead? Or worse—a walking corpse?”
