“Do you know what they did to me when you left? All the shit I had to put up with because I didn’t want to leave Jeremy alone with them? Marcus would grope me. I’d stand in the shower and hear the bathroom door rattling because he was trying to break in. I’d drop a plate and Greg would beat me. And that’s not even all of it!” I yell. “You promised me, Roman. You fucking promised that you wouldn’t leave me—that I’d never be alone. You said no one would hurt me. You told me no one would touch me. You’re a liar, Roman. I can’t believe I trusted you.”

I wish I could want him to suffer for everything he’s done, but I can’t. The reality is that hurting him will only hurt me, too, because I feel the sorrow that flashes through his eyes, and I can taste the guilt pouring out of his heart as if it were my own.

I want to hate him—I even said I hate him—but looking at him right now, sitting at eye level with my chest, what I’m feeling isn’t hate; It’s something much worse.

“I didn’t have a choice. I tried so hard to get back to you.” He’s already said this before, but it still means nothing to me. If he meant it, he would have done as he wanted and stayed with me. “Just sit down and let me explain.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Sit down, Isabella.” The sudden burst of rage vibrating from him has me flinching and doing as I’m told.

Even though his anger isn’t directed at me, my life of obedience replays through my head; every time Greg told me to get a beer, every time Marcus told me to sit by him, and all the times Maxim and Mikhail have laughed as they ransacked my bag, or when other kids would tell me to say certain words back when I still had a speech impediment.

‘No’ was never an answer because ‘No’ meant that I was asking to be struck.

I’m so tired of living like this, with my tail between my legs, scared of loud noises, and grateful for any scraps thrown my way, but I don’t know how to heal myself.

He rakes his hand through his hair. “I was in prison.”

Everything around me stills. “What?”

“After I dropped you home, I paid those twins a visit. I got shot and went to prison for two and a half years.”

I stare at him, mouth ajar. There’s no humor on his face, nothing to suggest he’s lying. “But… I tried calling you the next day?” are the only words I manage to form.

“I was in the hospital for a long time.”

“I… And…” I shake my head, my labored breaths making it harder to think. “This place?”

“I had a lot of time to plan what to do.”

Everything should be clear, but I don’t understand any of it, like I’m looking through a window on a cloudy day. “You never got in touch.”

“I sent you letters, but Marcus hid them, the fucker.”

“You never forgot about me,” I whisper.

“I could never leave you. There is no me without you.”

I keep waiting for the punchline or the joke, but it never comes. “You never called.”

“You changed your number.”

“You had a lawyer.” They—or the police—could have told me.

“I didn’t want to get you involved during the investigation.”

I gawk at him. “So it was better that I was kept in the dark?”

“You never looked or tried to find me.” It’s his turn to make the accusations.

“I didn’t think you’d be in prison!” I all but scream. “I checked your house, your work, everywhere! Your bike was nowhere to be seen—I thought you rode off without me.”

“I wasn’t just in prison, actually.” He shrugs. “I was in the hospital.”

What he said earlier finally sinks in. “You got shot,” I echo, staring at the patched hole in the wall in front of me.

“Mmhmm. In the chest.” I snap my attention back to him, and he has the audacity to look smug about it.

“You could have died?” I don’t know why I can’t string together more than a few words. He can’t be telling the truth, can he?

He nods, looking even prouder of himself. “They thought I wasn’t going to make it, but the thought of leaving you alone pulled me through.”

No.

This is a lie; he’s a liar.

He could have done so much to make sure I was okay. I spent days thinking he was dead, crying and suffocating under the weight of my guilt for being so angry at him.

Wait… the twins were away from school for a couple days after Roman disappeared. They looked worse for wear when they came back, but I didn’t think anything about it.

Two and a half years for assaulting—wait, would they have been minors? That can’t be the whole time.

My eyes widen. “Did you break out of prison?” I hiss under my breath as if someone might hear.

Throwing his arm over the back of the chair, he grins. “I got out early on good behavior.”

Bullshit. “You don’t know the meaning of that word.”

“I had good incentive.” Out of nowhere, under the dim light, his face hardens. “You left me too. Don’t forget that.”

Oh, now he’s angry? I bet he’s been holding on to that for a long time.

“I didn’t have a choice!” I was twelve and had to follow my guardians wherever they wanted to take me.

“And I did?” he counters.

I throw my hands in the air. “Absolutely, you did.”

“I love you, Bella. I never wanted to leave you, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to go to prison.” His livid stare sears into me, and I can’t look away.

“I don’t know what you told yourself, but you don’t love me, not really. You care about me, or maybe you’re obsessed, but you don’t love me.” Not in the way I love you—or did.

There are many kinds of love, and I loved him in every single way. Loved. Past tense. Although, I don’t think I know the meaning of the word, anyway.

“If you did, you wouldn’t have done what you did. You would have thought about me before going to the twins.”

“You’re the reason I went there. You’re all I thought about.” He speaks calmly, but there’s no missing his barely restrained frustration.

“No,” I bite out. “Don’t put that on me. You went there for yourself, too. You needed something to get off on, and you wanted to feel like you were doing something right. You did it because you wish someone was there to do it for you.”

He stays silent, which is somehow worse than his anger. If we were both screaming, maybe I wouldn’t feel bad for cutting into him. There would be something to make both of us bleed and become casualties of our own making.

But I shoved the knife in, and for the first time in my life, I’m going to twist it. Even if it hurts me too. “Actually, I should be thanking you.”

His brows lower. “Why?”

“Because I realized I don’t need you. I needed to learn how to be myself and be thrown into the water without anyone saving me. I learned I can survive without you.”

I don't pull away when he reaches for my hand this time. “It was never about needing someone to save you. Everything has always been about having someone else there to make living a little easier.” He pauses before continuing, “You never needed me. You needed someone to love you for who you were. I love you—all of you.”

I swallow, not wanting to acknowledge those words. “I survived the past three years without you.”

“It’s about more than just surviving.”

“We need to go back, Roman,” I whisper. “There’s no one to look after Jeremy, and I have all my commissions I need to do.”

The smile he gives me is almost sad, but hopeful. “I organized for a decent family to take him in and packed all your supplies into your bag. We’re staying here.”

“I want to call him. He’ll be getting home from camp and he’s going to freak out.”

“I’m sorry, Bella.”

“I have to call him. I need to make sure he’s okay,” I insist.

He takes a deep breath. “The police will be monitoring his calls. They could start looking into him or take him out of his home.”

I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. I don’t want Jeremy to worry about me. “Where is he? How did you manage to get him a place when I’ve been trying to get him out of there for years.”