Prologue
Robin
I can wait here longer than he can stand to stay away. I know that much.
A small grin pulls at my lips as I pick at the thread on the comforter. Always picking and waiting. There’s nothing else to do in this room.
My head lifts at the thought, drawing my eyes to the blinking red light. And he’s always watching. The sight of the camera makes my stomach churn, but only for a moment.
The sound of heavy boot steps walking down the stairs outside the closed door makes my heart race. I stare at the doorknob, willing it to turn and bring him to me.
I’ve waited too long for him.
The sound of the door opening is foreboding.
If anyone other than me was waiting for him, I’d assume they’d have terror in their hearts.
But I know him. I understand it all. The pain, the guilt.
I know firsthand what it’s like when the monster is gone and you only have your own thoughts to fight.
Your memories and regrets. It’s all-consuming.
And there’s no one who can understand you. No one you trust, whose words you can believe are genuine and not just disguised pity.
But he knows me, and I know him. Far too well; our pain is shared.
His broad shoulders fill the doorway and his dark eyes meet mine instantly. He barely touches the door and it closes behind him with a loud click that’s only a hair softer than my wildly beating heart.
It’s hard to swallow, but I do. And I ignore the heat, the quickened breath. I push it all down as he walks toward me, closing the space with one heavy step at a time.
He stops in front of me, but doesn’t hesitate to cup my chin in his large hand and I lean into his comforting touch. I know to keep my own hands down though and I grip the comforter instead of him.
It’s a violent pain that rips through me, knowing how scarred he is. So much so, that I have to hold back everything. I’m afraid of my words, my touch. He’s so close to being broken beyond repair and I only want to save him, but I don’t know how.
We’re both damaged, but the tortured soul in front of me makes me feel everything. He makes me want to live and heal his tormented soul. But how can I, when I’m the one who broke him by running away?
“My little bird,” he whispers and it reminds me of when we were children. When we were trapped together.
He’s not the boy who protected me.
He’s not the boy whose eyes were filled with a darkness barely tempered with guilt.
He’s not the boy I betrayed the moment I had a chance.
He’s a man who’s taking what he wants.
And that’s me.