Unchained (Under the Silverpine Sky #2)

Chapter 1

Theo

Luca called me.

I had given up hope he would. There’s no way I could have blamed him if he didn’t want to talk to me. I wouldn’t want to talk to me either, but he called, and we talked for an hour last week.

Luca Pierce is the only other human in existence who knows what it feels like to survive Damien Moore and his abuse. The only other person who might understand the bone-deep self-hatred, the anger, and the agony. He’s the only person alive who wears the same internal scars as me.

We survived.

Though some days it doesn’t feel like I’m surviving. Some days—most days—it feels like I’m not even a human.

Some days, I can’t force myself out of bed. I can’t be bothered to drink because if I drink, I’ll have to pee, and peeing requires moving.

I don’t eat because making myself food seems impossible, and I can’t force myself to lift my hand to order something with my phone.

The world doesn’t stop on those days. I used to be someone who had goals and dreams. I had plans for my life. Plans that I’ll probably never see come to fruition.

But all of that doesn’t matter. Finally. Finally, after years and years of being alone. Of being hopeless and ruined and miserable, I’ve found someone else who understands.

I’d never wish what Damien did to me on another person. I tried to have him arrested. I tried to get justice. I failed. And I have to live with that failure every day for the rest of my life.

It’s more than I can say for Damien.

I relax against my pillow. I’m tired. I think it’s a normal tired, but it’s hard to tell. It’s hard to tell if the heavy drooping of my eyes is from an impending bad day or a normal human experience. I guess time will tell.

Letting my eyes fall shut, I try to ignore the little voice in my head telling me this isn’t normal tiredness. It’s insidious, that voice. Sometimes I’d almost swear it convinces my brain to make me feel this way. Like I somehow manage to speak it into existence.

If I were strong enough to resist it, maybe I wouldn’t be like this.

My phone ringing startles me, and I sit up—much slower than I’d like. Each movement is slow, my limbs moving like they’re being weighed down.

Luca Pierce.

My heart jumps into my throat as I accept the call.

“Hello?”

Luca’s warm voice sounds over the line. “Hey, Theodore.”

“You can call me Theo,” I hear myself say.

There’s a pause. “Theo, then.”

We sit in silence. It was like this before too. Mostly silent. Other than the few minutes we cried together—him loudly, me quietly. There’s something freeing about talking to the man who knows your worst scars. There’s something heavy about it too. Something awful.

“Is everything okay?” I ask softly, not sure what else to do.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah,” Luca says. “I was calling to ask if…”

I wait for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, I prompt him. “Calling to ask if…”

He sighs. “Right. Would you be interested in coming to Silverpine?”

“That’s where you live, right?” I ask, rubbing a hand down my face. Being around other people sounds exhausting, but being alone is exhausting too. Being is exhausting.

“Yeah.” There’s another pause. “I think it would be nice. To see you. To get to talk to you in person.”

Luca is young. Younger than me by almost seven years. I was only eighteen when Damien trapped me. If I had succeeded in getting Damien locked up, Luca would have been spared this life. And maybe that’s the reason—my guilt—that I hear myself telling him yes. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

It sounds like he sighs in relief. “We’d love that. Let’s get something planned, yeah? When are you thinking you’d want to come? I’m not sure how much notice you’d need to give at work.”

I shake my head. If exhaustion wasn’t suffocating me, I’d probably even laugh. “I can leave whenever.”

Something tells me the gas station I’m working at won’t be too hard up if I leave.

“Really?” There’s something new in his voice. Excitement, I think.

“Sure.” I look around at the sad state of my bedroom. “Give me a couple of days to get everything together, and I’ll reach back out?”

As it stands, I’m not sure I even have clean clothes to pack. I try to stay on top of it, but laundry, like everything else in my life, tends to fall to the wayside in favor of my exhaustion.

“Sounds great. Bye, Theo.” I’m pulling the phone away from my ear when I catch his voice again. “You can reach out for other stuff too, by the way. I’d like for us to be friends.”

I swallow hard at his words. “I’d like that too.”

How will it feel to be in the presence of someone who gets it? Amazing, I think. Maybe the exhaustion will leave in his orbit. Maybe we can hold each other up so the weight doesn’t feel so heavy.

“Bye, Luca,” I whisper, then hang up the phone.

I wake with my heart racing, panic crawling up my throat. The sun is shining through the windows, and it takes me far too long to get my bearings. Picking up my phone, I squint at the screen. It’s early afternoon, which doesn’t make sense. I must have slept through my alarms. Again.

I toss my phone to the side, blinking up at the ceiling. I don’t remember falling asleep. I don’t remember setting my alarms. I don’t even remember if I ate. The gaping pit in my stomach says I haven’t, but… that I don’t remember is terrifying.

I was supposed to leave today. Hours ago.

My suitcase is on the floor beside my bed, mocking me. It’s open, the clothes folded neatly like proof of my intentions and a reminder of my current failure.

I was ready. I washed my laundry. I even folded some of it. Packed my suitcase. And then… then I just crawled into bed instead.

I should sit up, but it feels impossible, so I don’t even try. I tell myself I will in a second. Just like I tell myself I’ll eat, that I’ll shower, that I’ll go to work.

But a second goes by and then another, and still I don’t move. I tell myself I can do it. That I can sit up, that I can move. Grab my suitcase and get in my car.

Each breath I draw in feels like work. Like my body has forgotten how to do it on its own, and now I’m in charge of it. I’m not a good person to be in charge. I can’t get up with my alarm clock. I can’t even keep my word.

I close my eyes. Just for a second. I just need a second.

When I open them again, the room is dark. My mouth is dry, and when I try to swallow, it feels like sandpaper.

That can’t be good.

My phone lights up, and even though it takes all my strength, I reach for it.

Luca

Hey, just checking in. Did something happen on the road? No rush.

The kindness of those words presses against my chest, harder and harder, until I almost can’t breathe around the weight of them. God, I keep fucking up. I keep fucking everything up.

I type a message. I’m sorry.

But delete it.

I try again with I’m still coming, but I’ll be later than I thought.

I delete that too.

I stare at my phone so long that the screen goes dark, and then I let it fall from my fingers to my chest. Everything aches. Everything. But mostly my heart.

I was close. So close. I did all the right things. Why can’t I just get up?

Just fucking get up.

I just want things to be easy. I want to sit across from Luca. I want to look him in the eye. I want this fucking weight gone. I want it so badly that it aches, but my body won’t fucking cooperate.

I glare at my arm, willing it to move. Willing it to throw the blankets off me so I can stand. Nothing happens. I’d beg if I had to. I’d plead. I’d cry and wish and want. But it won’t matter.

It doesn’t matter how hard I want things. It doesn’t matter how much I wish for them to be different; they won’t. I’m stuck in my useless fucking body. In this useless fucking prison.

My back is killing me from lying in the same position. I should at least roll over and try to get more comfortable. But I can’t even will my body to do that, so I give up instead.

Three days later, something inside me shifts.

I get out of bed. I stumble to the bathroom, pissing measly drops of urine before drinking water from the faucet with my hands, gulping until I’m sure I’m about to throw up.

It’s so cold that it hurts my teeth, and I realize I can’t remember the last time I brushed them.

I’m not sure I should risk using any of my already waning energy on trying, though, so I don’t even bother.

Resting my forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink, I breathe in deeply. My lungs feel better. Not great, not perfect, but better. Dragging in each breath doesn’t feel like it’s taking everything I’ve got.

Ignoring my reflection the way I always do, I step back into the bedroom, ready to disappear into my bed when I trip over something.

Glancing down, I stare at the suitcase still open on my floor.

Just waiting for me. To close it. To walk past it.

To pick it up and carry it out of this shitty apartment.

To pretend it doesn’t exist while I give in to my body’s need for sleep.

Without allowing myself time to think, I drop to my knees in front of it and close it. I grab my phone and send Luca a text, ignoring all the ones he sent me after the first one I saw.

Me

I’m on my way.