27. The Warden
THE WARDEN
I entered Ava’s bedroom, the tray of her usual breakfast in my hands as if nothing had changed, but everything had. I could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating.
My eyes darted from the untouched bed to where she sat, knees drawn up to her chest, crumpled on the floor. Her eyes were puffy, red from hours of crying, and the sight of her like that—broken—stabbed through me.
I hesitated for a second, the heaviness in my chest almost unbearable. Then I went to the bed, sitting on the edge and setting the tray down like I had a thousand times before.
“Come. Eat,” I said, cutting into the omelet, trying to maintain the pretense of normalcy, though there was nothing normal about this anymore.
“I’m done.” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. The defiance in her words was thin, like she was hanging on by a thread.
My jaw clenched. It always did when I felt something too deep to control .
I took a breath, trying not to let it show, but I saw her flinch.
God, she was afraid of me. I hated it. But if I had to make her afraid to make her do what needed to be done, then I’d become her monster.
She swallowed hard, her voice shaky with the weight of everything she’d been carrying. “I can’t do it anymore, Ty.”
The storm inside me churned, and I dropped my head, breathing through the whirlwind of emotions clawing their way to the surface. The tension in the room grew suffocating.
I could hear her small, shallow breaths, could feel the fear radiating off her. It cut me to the core.
“You can,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “And you will.”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. The weight of the words landed between us, and I saw her stiffen.
I wasn’t making a threat. But she knew I would never stop.
I would never let her go.
“You can’t make me,” she said, her hands trembling as she bunched her nightgown tighter in her fists. “Even if you keep me locked in here forever. Shut me off from everything. Let me rot.”
“You’re so close,” I said, my voice barely a breath. “You’re so close to acceptance.”
Her brow furrowed, confusion clouding her tear-streaked face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The five stages of grief,” I replied. “You’ve gone through every single one—denial, anger, bargaining, depression—and now, you’re almost there. So close. ”
You’re so close, Ty.
Those words, spoken to me by my own warden, echoed in my mind.
I had hated him, too.
But he had not veered off the path. And neither would I.
“Fuck you,” she hissed, her words filled with venom. “I’m not some fucking experiment.”
“No.” I shook my head, the intensity of it all rising in my chest, threatening to break free. “You’re not an experiment. You’re everything to me. I would take all your pain, all of it, if I could.”
“Then spare me,” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she begged. “If you love me, let me go.”
“It’s because I love you that I’m never letting you go,” I said, the words leaving my mouth like a vow I couldn’t break, even if I wanted to.
Her wrist was in my hand before I even knew what I was doing. My lips hovered over her skin, her pulse thrumming against the tip of my tongue. The feel of it, the warmth of her… I didn’t just want her. I needed her.
But she yanked her arm away, her eyes blazing with fury. “I’m not yours .”
“You are mine,” I growled, the possessiveness burning in my chest. “Saying you’re not won’t make it so.”
“I’m Ciaran’s!” she screamed, and her words hit me harder than any blow ever could.
It was her turn to advance on me. I found myself backing up.
“When you touch me, I pretend it’s his hands. When you fuck me, I’m imagining his cock. I’ll always be his. Only his. ”
The ground vanished beneath me, my breath stolen, her confession hitting like a blow I hadn’t seen coming.
My knees buckled, and I grabbed the bedpost to steady myself, my heart collapsing under the weight of her words.
“Ava—” The words died in my throat, the pain too great to bear.
She reached out, but I recoiled, a chasm opening between us that I couldn’t cross. Not after that. Not after she’d said that.
I backed away, stumbling, forcing myself to the doorway, each step feeling like I was tearing myself apart. I barely registered the cold air of the hallway as I fell back, slamming the door shut and locking it behind me.
My body shook, and I slid down the door, pressing my back against it as if it could keep out her words, her presence—anything to numb the jagged, gaping wound she’d left.
Her words, thrown so carelessly at me, like poisoned knives made to hurt, were my worst nightmare.
I would suffer a thousand years in prison rather than hear them again. Rather than have them be true.
Her voice, her sobs echoed through the metal and wood, pleading, desperate.
“Ty, no, don’t leave me alone!” she cried, pounding on the door. “Please. I didn’t mean it.”
But it didn’t matter.
It was too late. Her words had already carved their place, cutting deep, slicing through the last part of me that had dared to hope.
That night I couldn’t sleep. The weight of the day, and the years before it, pressed too heavily on my chest.
Drawn to the giant white beast in the piano room, I surrendered to the only outlet I had left. The keys. Music was my refuge when words failed me—when swallowing my emotions became second nature. Too many years spent silencing myself, chewing back my thoughts, had made speaking about the things that haunted me near impossible.
And it seemed my little hummingbird couldn’t sleep either, drawn out of her bedroom via the secret panel, I guessed.
I felt her standing at the doorway of the piano room, long before she cleared her voice and spoke.
“That was beautiful. What did you name that one?”
I hesitated, my fingers still hovering over the keys.
“ Requiem for… Taibhse .” The Irish word for ghost , sounding like tie-sha, caught in my throat. The nickname bringing back too many memories.
Her steps were light, hesitant as she moved closer.
“W-who are you mourning?” she asked, and her voice cracked at the edges like she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
I couldn’t answer her. Not in words.
My shame, my grief, my past—there was too much to explain, too much I hadn’t admitted even to myself.
Yet how could I expect her to face her darkness, when there were parts of mine I still hadn’t faced?
Perhaps, to save her, to pull her from the darkness, I would have to reveal the things that kept me in mine.
I’d have to confess the things that haunted me .