77. Caelia
I didn’t seemuch of Kaz after the funeral. I accompanied him, feeling like the outsider that I truly am. It felt wrong to intrude on his grief. I also kept my distance from Kat and Vanya, watching them mourn from a distance, unsure of what to say. They could be my family, but I’m consciously building a wall between myself and everyone around me, thinking it will make it easier for me when the day comes for me to leave—a day that hangs over me like a looming death sentence.
Kaz knows it, too. We sit in silence during dinner, avoiding even looking at each other. I’ve run out of words to say to him, and even if I could think of something, it’s not something he wants to hear. I went through all the steps with him yesterday, going over the work I did to rebuild his records, but he’ll need to hire a qualified accountant if he doesn’t want to learn how to do it himself—which I doubt he will. He already has enough on his mind. I could stay and help, knowing he needs it and trusts me, but I can’t. I’ve already given him too much. It would be selfish to think or say I’ve received nothing in return because he’s given me everything he promised. He’s offering me a life by his side if only I could accept it.
I lift my head and gaze at him. We’re seated at opposite ends of the table, farther apart than ever. I replay all the moments we’ve shared since he entered my life like a tornado. I remember the strange feelings he stirred within me on the first night we met, making me question why my husband had stopped looking at me with hatred in his eyes. Kaz made me question everything I thought I knew about Mattia, which made perfect sense when I discovered he wasn’t who he claimed to be. I no longer see things the same way as I used to. I can’t.
“Is everything all right with the food?” he asks, glancing in my direction.
I’ve been playing with the food on my plate for a while, unable to swallow anything. Guilt and regret churn in my stomach. I should be ecstatic. By this time next week, I’ll be free—free to go wherever I want and do whatever I want.
“Everything’s fine,” I respond.
At least everything’s fine with the food. But I can’t shake off this dreadful feeling that’s consuming me. Why does the thought of leaving him feel like signing my death sentence? It wasn’t any different the first time. I thought I was running away from Mattia, but when I was alone on that bus, with nowhere to go and no one to talk to, it felt like attending my funeral. I wasn’t excited about escaping and won’t be now, either.
Lately, there have been moments when he became a stranger to me, and I understand why. He has done everything in his power to convince me to stay, and now the only thing he can do is protect himself from the heartbreak that will inevitably follow.
Will you scream my name while you fuck someone else? Will you lie in someone else’s bed but be trapped in your mind with me? How do you plan to erase me from your memory, baby? Do you think I’ll ever forget the way you looked at me? The way you touched me, craved me? Do you think we can just go our separate ways and become strangers?
I haven’t found the answers to his questions, and even if I could fabricate another lie, it would be pointless.
“What’s wrong, Caelia?” he asks.
I got so used to him calling me anything other than my name that hearing it now feels like a knife twisting in my heart. I don’t want to be just Caelia for him. It’s selfish and stupid. Kaz fought for us—for me. I’m a coward, fighting for my freedom instead of love. He may come to hate me for it, but having him hate me is better than feeling nothing for me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“What for?”
“I’m sorry that I called you my villain and said you’re the lesser evil in my life. I’m sorry that I said I”d never be?—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, shaking his head.
Yours. I’m sorry I said I”d never be yours.
I stand there, frozen, for a long moment, taking in his appearance. His dressing room is half-filled with black suits and shirts. He looks at me the same way he always has, with a flicker of obsession and desire, but this time, there’s something else present—something akin to resignation. I can’t spend another minute here without bursting into tears.
“I’m tired.” I stand up, excusing myself. “Good night, Kaz.”
He will come to bed eventually. He might even touch me, hold me, or kiss me. It feels like I’m dying.
“Good night, Caelia,” he responds.
I can’t hold back the tears, not even for a second. They spill when I turn away, and I have no one to blame but myself. This hell I’m trapped in is of my own making.