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Instead, I nod my head in understanding, and retreat up the stairs.
I know this isn’t his fault. Nico and Enzo would skin him alive if something happened to me.
It’s the only reason I don’t fight back. I can feel his gaze watching me as I climb the stairs but I don’t care.
It’s not like I’m trying to hide my actions. He’s made it very clear that there’s nowhere for me to go.
Everything I’ve ever wanted is slipping away from me faster than I can hold onto it.
I reach my bedroom and close the door, locking it in place, before sliding down to the floor in front of it.
I’m trapped in a golden cage, and I have no idea what to do about it. The overwhelming truth that hangs on my shoulders is too much to bear.
Once again, tears start to fall down my cheeks, but I’m so damn tired of crying.
I swipe them off my cheeks and crawl onto my bed, clinging to a pillow and screaming long and low into it.
I scream and scream into the pillow until there’s nothing left.
Is this what rock bottom feels like?
I have no allies. My ex is psycho and trying to ruin my reputation – something that he may very well die for. My friends can’t know the truth. And I’ve lost all that I’ve ever known.
For what?
I have no answers.
I have to believe that life will work out somehow – that this will get better.
I bury my face in the pillow. This can’t be all that I’m meant for. There has to be something else.
Not even this room can make me feel safe anymore. At any moment, someone could barge in, demanding something from me, forcing me to fit into the mold they’ve decided I should fit.
And what would I do about it? What could I do about it? Nothing.
I hate feeling helpless. Nothing about my life right now feels like mine.
This room isn’t mine. The décor isn’t mine. My memories, my belongings – they are all shoved in boxes in a walk-in closet. It’s like we moved here and all of a sudden, I had no past – just a future that was already decided for me.
Somehow, my mother managed to marry the one man that seems to guarantee things will only get worse.
I pull out my phone and text her again.
We need to talk about Albert.
Her response is almost immediate. We can talk later. When I’m home.
Please, mom. I don’t want to wait.
Christina. I can’t talk about it now. We’ll have to talk in person, okay?
My fingers hover over the words I want to type but I click my lock screen shut and toss my phone across the room to stop myself from saying something I might regret.
We’ll have to talk in person.
God, it’s as close to admitting the truth as we’re going to get, but it’s enough to make me feel sick.
She knew.
