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Considering nothing out of the ordinary is coming from the house—no Charlie darting out onto the porch, looking around, nothing out of place—it seems like he made it out safely. “Good work.”
“Thanks.” He turns his head to look at me, his brow furrowed. “Are we leaving or…?”
Right. We have to go. As much as it tears me to pieces to leave, it's my only option. It won't be enough, watching her or listening to her soft voice thanks to the camera’s microphone. I know that now. Seeing her hasn't lessened my craving—just the opposite. I need her more than I did before.
I have to get her back beside me, by any means necessary. And when I do, it’s going to be different. No more secrets, no lies. I’ve learned my lesson.
If it’s a choice between keeping things to myself and losing her, I’ll force myself to open up. I’ll tell her everything there is to know about me.
However, I will not jeopardize her safety. That, she can’t ask me to do.
Deep down right now, it pains me to know she’s safer than she ever was with me.
I push the doubt aside before pulling away from the curb, forcing myself to leave her.
It’s not forever, I remind myself. We’ll be together again, and when that time comes, I’ll make it so she can never escape me.
BIANCA
“It’s nice of you to stick around to make sure your old man’s taking care of himself.” Dad finishes unloading the cold stuff into the fridge before standing up straight. He eyes me warily, as if he’s trying to figure me out. “However, you don’t need to take another day off work to look after me. I’m fine, and you can’t afford to lose your job.”
“I know.” I turn my back to him before filling a pot with water at the sink. It’s a relief to be able to loosen my face up a little—it’s been more than an hour since we went out for groceries, and I spent the entire time straining to keep my expression neutral. I’m exhausted, and my cheeks ache already. And it’s all because I can’t let him know what’s going on in my head.
“Honey? Did you hear what I said?”
“Hmm?” Turning off the faucet, I set the pot on the stove. “Sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the water.”
“We’ll both head to work tomorrow, and when you get home, I’ll have dinner ready for you.” He pulls out a pitcher to mix up iced tea, something we always drank with dinner when I was a kid. The first time I ate dinner at a friend’s house, the fact that they wanted us to drink water, was horrifying. I thought everybody drank iced tea, the powdered kind from the can.
It always made me feel like I was helping with the meal, pouring the powder and stirring it into the pitcher. Testing the sweetness. Mom would try it after me and give me a thumbs up. “Thank you so much for being such a big helper.”
Between the constant reminders of her and the fear that I might’ve betrayed her with Callum, it’s astonishing I can get through something as simple as fixing dinner for us. I zoned out a few times when we were at the store and kept trying to add things to the cart after Dad had. Ugh.
I have to shake myself out of the distraction gripping me these past two days. Like just now, walking into the house, I could have sworn somebody was watching me. It’s ridiculous, really, and just another way Callum has sunk his nails into me. In real life, people don't lurk around in the shadows, stalking girls and claiming it's because they love them. I have to adjust my thinking before I lose my sanity.
It's already bad enough I'm walking a thin line with Dad. Weighing every word I use, tiptoeing around the obvious. The way he let the house fall to pieces along with himself. The things he said about Mom and Callum, which he still hasn’t uttered a word about.
I wanted to give him the time and space to do the right thing on his own. I’m not deluded—I didn’t think he’d break down and pour the whole thing out, but this is a huge development and she was my mother. Don’t I deserve to know the truth?
It’s a relief when he retreats to the living room at my suggestion and turns on the ball game. I can practice in my head what I want to say once we sit down to eat.
Dad, I’m going to lose my mind if you don’t tell me what you meant about Callum murdering Mom. Yeah, sure, that’ll work. He won’t be completely shocked at all. I’m still unsure if he remembers what he said before passing out. I want answers, but I don’t think I can dump them on him like that.
