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Eve:
I know you don’t want me to go, but I have to. He said I was a child, but I’m not. I feel stronger than I ever have before, and it’s because you’re by my side. I think Isaac will understand once we talk. I love you, Ro. Be back soon.
Roman’s Old Phone:
This number is no longer in service.
Dread pools in my stomach, and bile fills my mouth. That was from before…
I shake my head, panic filling my chest, wanting to go back to that moment and stop her from ever leaving. If only I’d known, I wouldn’t have stopped her if she felt it was that necessary in order to move on, to grow. I would’ve gone with her. I would’ve protected her.
Self-hatred bubbles up and the same words I’ve said to myself every day since I found her in the bathroom in Divinity fill my mind.
You failed her.
I clench my jaw to keep my tears at bay. I can’t cry. She needs me to be strong.
How can she stand to look at me? To touch me? Kiss me? I failed her. I hadn’t protected her.
I can barely stand myself. But she still looks at me like I’m something special. She never lost that. Even when she had no warmth in her eyes, no light guiding her back to me, she still saw me.
She always will.
I keep going, scrolling back through time, watching events play out in reverse.
Eve:
Thank you.
Roman’s Old Phone:
This number is no longer in service.
Eve:
You protected me today. I feel so stupid. Why didn’t I see it? How could I have been so blind? The things Marcus said…was he right about me? Did I deserve this?
Marcus.
My hand tightens around the phone, a fresh onslaught of anger rising inside me as I read the questions.
No, she didn’t deserve it.
He wasn’t right.
It wasn’t her fault.
She should’ve never felt unsafe doing her job, regardless of what it is. But he made her feel like she owed him something. He had delusions that she was his, that the things she’d said online and the performance she put on was real.
It wasn’t.
Eve:
I learned you’re a tattoo artist today. It suits you well. I’m so proud of you, Ro.
I’m so proud of you.
I read it again and again. She’s proud of me. Would she still be proud of me if she knew all the things I did before making it as an artist? Would she hate the man I was? Would she hate me for everything I’ve done?
