Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Tristian
Iwalked into my father’s office thirty minutes late. Noah and Samuel were mid-conversation. I didn’t look at either of them, my hands itching to tear both of them apart. Instead, my eyes went straight to the empty chair.
“Where is she?”
My father tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “We thought she would be with you.”
Ignoring their looks, I checked my phone. Nothing. No calls, no texts. That was wrong. When she was anxious, she hovered, bombarded me with her presence because she was terrified of silence. This afternoon, there was nothing at all.
I tried to think back to the morning. I’d left her, I was angry, cold, distant. I remembered telling her to lock the door behind her before I walked out.
Wait.
“I gotta go.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I turned on my heel and ran.
I drove like a maniac, weaving through traffic carelessly. I prayed she was on the couch, watching her little shows or sketching. Anything.
I reached my building and took the stairs three at a time. I reached for my key, but the door gave way under my hand. It was unlocked.
The apartment was dark, the only light a dim gray filtering through the window. I fumbled for the lamp by the door, and what was in the light felt like a punishment.
Ingrid was curled in a ball in the middle of the floor. Not moving, hair a wild curtain over her face. I dropped everything, and rushed to her side.
I crouched, my fingers trembling as I pushed her hair back. Her cheeks were stained with dried tears and smudged mascara. She shivered, a small tremor that screamed exhaustion.
This was my fault.
I had left her here in the dark. I had made her feel so small, so discarded.
“Ingrid,” I sighed.
She looked up at me blearily. Fresh tears welled in her bloodshot eyes.
“I’m s-sorry,” she whispered. Her hand reached out, caught mine. I held tight. “I’m r-really sorry. Please… please don’t l-leave me again.”
I helped to ease her up. Shakes racked her, and I wrapped her in my arms to stifle them, cradling her trembling body against my chest.
“Ingrid, it’s okay,” I murmured into her hair, my voice thick. “Don’t apologize.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide and pleading.
“I’ll be good, I promise. I-I won’t d-do anything to make you mad.
I won’t be so clingy, I won’t bother you, I-I won’t annoy you.
And I’ll—I’ll tell you everything, okay?
I’ll do anything for you to stay. Just… no more silent treatment, please.
Don’t be mad at me please. Don’t be upset with me anymore. ”
My own eyes burned. I buried my face in her hair and held on. She dug her nails into my back and I didn’t move, welcoming the sting.
“Ingrid, you don’t have to tell me anything until you are ready.”
“But if I don’t you’ll leave again.” Her voice broke on every word. “You did it before. You did it today. You—you can’t leave me, okay? You can’t.”
“I’m not leaving you.” My voice came unsteady. “I know what I did was wrong, and I don’t—”
“H-he hits me. A lot,” she sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “He pulls my hair when I don’t listen to him, pushes me to the ground, kicks me, manhandles me, berates me—”
“Ingrid, stop—”
But it was like a switch had been flipped, and she couldn’t stop, even as the sobs shook her body and her face flooded with tears.
“He did it to Camila, but she was strong enough to leave. I was too weak. I am too weak. My abuelita tries, and he backs down when she goes in on him, but it’s only for show, and when she’s gone, he lets out all his anger again.
He hurts me so much, Tristian, he treats me so b-b-badly—and my mother, she just watches—”
“Ingrid, stop,” I said, hard, my voice cracking with the sheer horror of it.
She flinched violently, pulling back as if I’d struck her. I cursed myself a thousand times over.
“S-sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m s-sorry…”
I couldn’t look at her without seeing the monster I’d been today. I pulled her back in before she could finish. Held her tighter than I should have. “Doll... please don’t.”
We stayed on the floor. Neither of us moved for a long time.
Eventually, her crying slowed, softening into light hiccups. She pulled away, her eyes dull and vacant, yet there was a flicker of relief in them.
“I missed... I missed our meeting,” she whispered, sagging against me exhausted and hollowed out.
“Doesn’t matter.” I looked at her, making sure she saw the truth in my eyes. “And you’re not going home.”
I pulled her back into my chest, resting my chin on the top of her head. “I should never have left,” I muttered, more to myself, but she responded.
“It’s o-okay—”
“It’s not,” I cut her off.
She didn’t argue again.
Instead, she kept clinging to the man who had broken her.