Chapter 41
I thought killing Kyle would alleviate my fears.
I thought seeing him lying there, dead, feeling his blood splatter against my skin and watching the life bleed out of his eyes, would quiet my fight or flight instinct.
For a minute, it seemed to. But the second the lift opened into the achingly familiar penthouse, something in my brain switched.
All the fear I managed to shove down and hold at bay came crashing back with a vengeance.
Every little noise has sweat trickling down my back, my heart pounding and fear lashing at my every nerve ending.
Anytime Jonathan knocks on the door to let me know he’s left a tray of food has me panicking someone is going to come crashing through the door to get me.
It’s fucking exhausting. I want to be normal, to enjoy my freedom that never should have been stolen from me.
I need to share everything I managed to overhear, down to the smallest detail, in hopes to save more souls from the same fate.
But anytime I try to force myself to, the fear of Jonathan’s reaction, of everyone knowing, has my throat tightening and the words refusing to come out.
Even scrubbing my skin raw in the shower, and ripping those bastard piercings out, did little to erase the crawling sensation of my skin not being my own.
Once they know just how damaged I am, how broken, why would they want to keep me around? How could Jonathan or Cora ever look at me the same way?
Not to mention, every time I try to sleep, the past claws its way into my mind, dragging me back to that basement of horrors, to the hands taking what they wanted from me as I struggled to keep my sanity.
It’s like a constant replay of the worst moments until I wake up in a cold sweat, normally on the floor with a scream lodged in my throat and my heart pounding so fast, my ribcage aches.
This time, when my fear lurches me into awareness, I’m greeted by the sight of a frantic Jonathan crouched beside me, sleep rumpled, shirtless and backlit by the hall light.
My racing mind can’t work out what's reality and what’s my nightmare.
Am I still dreaming, and he’s about to be ripped away from me, or is he really here, seeing me at my weakest with fear in his eyes?
My racing thoughts can’t pinpoint which would be worse.
“Sweetheart, breathe with me. You’re okay, I promise.
In and out,” he coaches me, locking eyes with me and making a show of breathing until my racing pulse slows down.
But in its place come the tears I’ve been holding back for far too long.
Scooping me into his arms, he settles us on the bed, my head on his chest as he rubs soothing circles on my back.
I break apart in his arms, the one place that always felt like my safe place amidst all the secrets and fear.
“Can you do me a favour?” I croak, my head still buried on his naked chest now damp from my tears.
“Anything.”
“I know I’m not the woman you knew, and there’s no changing that. But can you lie to me and tell me what our future could have been?”
“Helen…” The pain in that one word has fresh tears escaping.
“Please?” I whimper, the need to hear what could have been feeling like a physical ache somewhere behind my ribs.
“Somewhere…” he whispers, stroking my hair in smooth, slow motions.
“Somewhere, there’s a world where we never parted ways.
You wake up in my arms every morning, you feel my heart beating against your cheek, and I kiss you good morning despite your protests about morning breath.
Then, I slip out to make you coffee, which is always served with a kiss.
We shower together, and I wash your hair before heading into the office.
We live every day to the fullest—full of laughter and love.
So much love, sweetheart. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and we are so, so happy. ”
I drift back to sleep, yearning for the picture he’s painting to be our reality, soundtracked by his hopes and dreams for a different us, a version that wasn’t destroyed by tragedy, one that wasn’t cursed from the start, cloaked in secrets and lies.
How lucky are they to have what we never can.