13
“Adam, please.” There she is. The girl I told myself I would never be again. The one with the shaky voice, the voice with tears in it, begging and pleading. Pathetic.
Here’s the thing: it’s easy to forget what it’s like to be in this moment, with a man bigger and stronger than me, a man with a crazy light in his eyes and his hands clenched in fists. Rage rolls off him in icy waves strong enough to weaken my knees and take away every last bit of confidence I’ve earned since I left.
“Please? Please!” he shouts, advancing on me. “You’re going to beg me now? After weeks when I thought you could’ve been dead? Do you know how hard I’ve been looking for you?”
He lunges for me, and I skitter backward, bouncing off the corner of the bed and rebounding off the dresser. The TV sways back and forth, and one of the drawers starts to slide open before he slams it shut.
“Let’s talk,” I beg, hands outstretched in front of me. How many times has he had me like this? It’s the same thing all over again. How could I ever have convinced myself I would get out of it for good?
“No. That time is past.” He wraps a hand around my wrist, and he yanks hard, pulling me across the room and throwing me onto the bed. My duffel bag and purse hit the floor, both spilling open.
“Look what you made me do.” He runs a hand through his sandy hair, which looks greasy and too long. Like he hasn’t been taking care of himself. If I didn’t know him so well, I would think it was fear for me that made him like this. I’m not that naïve anymore. Obsession and concern aren’t the same thing.
“What did I make you do?” I whisper. I crawl backward on my ass, my hands and feet sliding over the cheap blanket until my back hits the headboard.
“You made me come here. You made me follow you. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting outside that fucking hospital?”
It’s even worse than I thought. I can’t pretend to be confused or surprised. I don’t have it in me anymore. “You knew where they took her? Were you watching?”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Right, like I was watching to see if they picked her up. Who do you think made the phone call saying she was spotted on the side of the road?”
I assumed it was a driver who pulled over and attended to her, somebody who cared. “That was you?”
“What, do you think I would let her lie there and die? What kind of person do you think I am? A murderer?”
He’s got to be kidding. He has completely lost his mind. “What, do you want me to thank you? Congratulate you? Sure, you beat her half to death, but at least you made sure EMTs picked her up?”
Maybe I’m the one who lost their mind, talking to him like that. Or maybe I just don’t care anymore. Maybe I’m so tired of this—the fear, the hiding, giving up my entire life because of him—that I would rather him end this here and now than spend the rest of my life waiting for him to find me.
“You got mouthy since you left.” He starts to walk around the bed, moving closer to where I’m pressed against the headboard. “And I wouldn’t have needed to hurt anybody if you hadn’t run away. Do you think I liked doing that?”
“Are you looking for a real answer? Or only what you want to hear?”
His eyes widen until they’re bulging. “Why are you trying to pick a fight? I went to all this trouble to find you, and this is how you thank me?” He looks around the room, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace. “This is filthy. Did the roaches sleep in bed with you, or do you make a bed for them on the floor?”
He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “You never did know how to take care of yourself. My parents always warned me.”
“Warned you of what?”
“That I would have to spend the rest of my life taking care of you. They said you would be an anchor around my neck that I’d have to drag around with me because you can’t stand on your own two feet.” He raises his arms, swinging them around. “Obviously, they were right. Look where you ended up.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out what’s on the tip of it.
It’s better than being with him.
It’s better than having every move watched, questioned, and scrutinized. Better than having to be careful with every word I use in case he takes a thoughtless comment as an insult.
What am I going to do? I have to get out of here. While he looks around, I look around, too. Can I use something as a weapon? I don’t know that there’s anything heavy enough. The lamps are mounted to the nightstands and walls. My coat’s on the floor with the Mace in the pocket. Can I get to it? Maybe, but I don’t know if there would be time to reach into the pocket and pull out the can before he caught me. I was in too much of a hurry to put it on before leaving. So many mistakes.
I could end up paying for them with my life.
No. I’m not going to let that happen. Even if I have to lie to him and calm him down for a few minutes, I’ll do it. It’ll be worth it.
I take a deep breath and brace myself. “I’m sorry.”
“And what good does that do now? What’s done can’t be undone.”