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“I know why you came back here. You think I don’t see the way you look at that girl?”
“Fuck off, Stefan.” I yank away from him, and he calls after me as I go.
“She’s not yours, and she never will be. Stay the hell away from her.”
The soft click of the cottage door catches my attention as I shove the last of my shit into the duffel bag, and when I look up, Bianca is standing there. Her gaze darts to the bag, and she shakes her head with a desperation that pierces right through my armor.
“No, Madden,” she cries out. “You just got here.”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you congratulations.” I yank the zipper shut and toss the bag onto the floor. “That’s a pretty big rock on your finger.”
When Bianca doesn’t reply, I glance over at her, only to wish I hadn’t. She looks so fucking miserable, and I don’t understand it. We got here because this is the path she set us on. This situation has worn me down, and I thought coming back here might bring me some kind of closure. But closure and clarity are two different things, and I never realized it until this moment. Because now it’s clear as day that Bianca is lying to herself, too.
“Please don’t go.” She swipes at her tears as they begin to fall. “I want you to stay.”
“There’s nothing here for me anymore.” I stare through her.
“We can all go to South Padre Island,” she says. “We can go to the beach and make the most of your time here—”
“You can’t have us both, Bianca.”
She drags her gaze to the floor, hiding behind a curtain of her hair. “I know that.”
“Then why are you still fucking tormenting me?” I raise my voice, despite my best efforts to keep my cool. “Why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone and go on with your life and be happy?”
She shrinks into herself, and I’ve never hated myself more. This is what she does to me. What we do to each other. We’re the worst versions of ourselves when we’re together, and I can see it now. The light in her has gone out. And I’m convinced that I must be to blame for that too.
I have to cut the tie. I have to sever the cord. It’s the only way to survive.
“We can’t do this shit anymore,” I tell her. “It’s toxic. It’s dysfunctional. You and I can’t be friends. We can’t be anything to each other. Do you understand?”
More tears fall, and this time she doesn’t try to hide them as she looks up at me, horrified by the suggestion. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do to stay where I am. To let her cry and accept the reality of our situation, as I finally am. After a few long minutes of silence, when it really sinks in for her, she turns around to leave. But before she does, she pauses, her shoulders slumped, her body caving in on itself.
“I didn’t say yes.”
“What?”
“Adam gave me the ring,” she tells me in a hollow voice. “And then he said, let’s get married. He never asked, and I never answered. But I guess that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Chapter 43
Lyric
Madden pours us both a shot from the bottle of peach schnapps he brought home, sliding it across the table toward me. I understand this must have some kind of significance to him, and he wants it to be significant to me too, but I can’t pretend it is.
I take the shot, anyway, refusing to meet his eyes. I can’t give him what he wants, and I feel hopeless because I know he’ll never be at peace with that.
“She has some kind of hold on you,” I whisper.
“She always has.”
When I finally look at him, his eyes are more intense than I’ve ever seen them. And the most troubling realization I have is that I want to make him forget her. It doesn’t matter that he’s my captor. It makes no difference that he took me from the streets and locked me in his house and tormented me with gory images and haunting accusations. Or that he separated me from Eden, my only lifeline in this world. Because somehow, that lifeline evolved, slowly becoming him.
He feeds me. He takes care of me. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want him to stop. I want more from him. I want all of him, but I know I can’t have it, and that’s what bothers me the most.
“I hate it when you talk about her,” I admit. “I hate that you can’t look at me without seeing her.”
His fingers edge across the table toward me, stopping just short of crossing that invisible line. Reassuring me would break his unwritten rules. Regardless of his feelings for her or me, he’ll have to turn me in at some point to save himself.
