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Words had been strangled from my throat. I was unraveling. A shred of paper lifted up in the breeze then pushed around, never knowing where I’d land. Confused and … God, the hurt was so overwhelming that my insides were cramped.
The worst part … the most horrific, agonizing part of it was that I wanted Ream to hold me and take this all away. It was fucked up and yet … the comfort of his arms … but then it hurt more because I knew he’d taken that away and I’d never get it back.
My mind screamed over and over again—why. Why would he do that to me … to us? He wanted to marry me.
But why? Why fight for me then throw it away?
I heard running footsteps and a loud bang then a ruckus as if fighting.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, asshole,” Crisis shouted. “Leave.”
“Get out of the way.” Ream’s voice was laced with a husky sound, as if he’d been shouting too much and it was dry and torn.
“Ream, please. Give her time. She doesn’t want to see you right now,” Emily said, and I could hear the crackled tone. She’d been crying and she’d never left, sitting outside my door for hours.
I heard a scuffle and wrapped the sheet around me and ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I got into the bathtub, closed the shower curtain, and sat with the sheet up over my head.
This … everything I was and am at this very moment … it was what I’d been hiding from my entire life. The feeling of no control. Of being weak and vulnerable. Powerless to stop the pain.
I hid behind my flirting, my smiles, and my avoidance of telling anyone about my disease so I never had to feel like this.
Now that had all been ripped and frayed apart … I’d become the person I hated and never wanted to be. I became weak and helpless to the emotions.
“Kat!” Ream’s voice wasn’t weak or vulnerable. No, he was merciless as he yelled my name over and over. “Kat. Open the fuckin’ door.”
I cringed when the pounding on the door started. They were loud hard thuds, and I knew he was trying to kick down the door.
“Kat!” A scuffle. “Get the fuck back, asshole. I have to talk to her.” I heard more wrestling and then the door banged again.
And again.
And again.
I heard the second it gave way to the pressure, the wood splitting and the door hitting the opposite wall. Then footsteps.
I jumped when the knocking started on the bathroom door, but it wasn’t pounding and forceful. It was soft and gentle and that made it worse.
“Baby. Please. Talk to me.” His voice was quiet and yet still threaded with tension. “I swear. What you saw … Jesus, baby, that wasn’t real.” I heard a low curse and his fist hit the door. “It was real, but it wasn’t me. Let me explain.”
I heard a slight thump and it was either his forehead against the door or his palm. I held my knees tighter to my chest, willing all of it to go away. Begging it not to be true, just like I had when I was ten years old. But it had been true. Just like it was now.
Ream cheated on me. He’d lied to me, he fought to open me up, and when he did, it was beautiful. And then he ripped apart the beautiful and made it ugly.
“Christ. I love you. I can’t lose you. Please. We need to talk about this. I’ll tell you, baby.”
His words struck me. It was as if he’d been right in front of me and slapped me across the face. I threw the sheet aside and stormed to my feet. Fury encased me. Love wasn’t lies and broken promises. It wasn’t opening someone up and bringing them into your heart and then tearing their heart out.
The anger burned so deep that when I opened the door and faced him, it was with a red haze of blurred tears. I curled my hand into a fist then swung, cuffing him as hard as I could across the jaw. His head tilted back at the force, but he didn’t move. His hands were braced on either side of the door frame and I could see Emily and Crisis a few feet behind him.
“Did you fuck Molly too?”
He flinched then reached for me. I heard Crisis move toward us and then Ream stepped to the side and slammed the door, blocking out Crisis and Emily. The lock clicked.
“Ream. Open the goddamn door, buddy, or I’ll break it down.”
“Crisis, give me five minutes. Five fuckin’ minutes. You know I’d never hurt her,” Ream shouted back.
A thump on the door. “Sugar? You good with that? If not, I’m breaking down this door.”
Was I? Not really, but Ream standing in front of me looking haphazard, eyes wild, and … yes, there was fear there. I needed to hear this, not to find an excuse to forgive him, but to find more reasons to hate him. “Five minutes.” I heard Crisis walk away, but he swore the entire time.
Ream stepped toward me and I held out my hand. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.”
He nodded then stepped back until he was against the door. His eyes were glassy and red, he reeked of alcohol, and his T-shirt was on backwards and inside out. The tormented look on his face … guilt. Well, he could rot in that guilt for the rest of his life.
He rubbed his hand back and forth on top of his head like he always did when he was agitated. “Baby—”
“Call me that again and this conversation is over.”
His face contorted as if he’d just been whipped by my words. Then he straightened his shoulders and met my eyes. There was a sudden hardness there and it was dark and cold, and it made me want to escape.
“When I was a teenager … I was a prostitute.”
His words hit me like I’d been punched in the stomach with a battering ram, and I fell backwards until I hit the wall, my eyes wide with shock. The wave of pins and needles that already plagued my body tripled, and I slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor. It was either that or I was collapsing.
