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To the house in the woods.
Where he’d found this.
Then he’d taken it.
And had hidden it from me.
Then proceeded to lie about it.
Omission was a lie, damnit.
My vision was going weird, jumping, flashing. Little images from the past cut into the present. Hands grabbing, fear choking, pain starting.
They seemed to flash faster and faster, blurring the present and past, making it impossible to think clearly.
“Looking for something, darlin’?” Riff asked, tone light and playful as usual, oblivious, it seemed, to the way tension was sparking off my every nerve ending.
For a moment, the visions stopped flashing, letting me see clearly again.
When I turned, I found him dressed in jeans and a tan henley, his wet hair leaving a few drops of water onto the shoulders.
His smile had been soft as ever.
Until he saw what I was holding.
Then I got to see the way his face fell.
“What is this?” I asked, voice shaking almost as much as the hand holding my purse. My stomach was cramping; a cold sweat was spreading across my skin.
“I can explain,” he said, holding up his hand in a placating gesture. It begged me to understand.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Not with my brain playing tricks on me like this.
“I don’t know if you can,” I said, flinging it back into the wardrobe, and slamming the door.
“V—“
“You went back there,” I said, voice tight as the memories started to flash across my mind again, making bile rise up my throat. The shed, the shackle, the clawing hunger, the door opening… and him coming inside with me…
“Yes,” he admitted, having no choice. Because there was no other explanation.
“You didn’t tell me you were going back there,” I said, holding onto my stomach, trying to breathe, but it was getting harder with each passing second.
“I didn’t want you to—“
“You don’t get to choose what I can handle,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to try to protect me from things that directly involve me,” I snapped, hating how my voice hitched, how I was so close to crying.
Not wanting to break down here like this, I turned and rushed toward the door.
“Vienna,” he called, rushing down the steps behind me, but I only broke into a run, ignoring all the faces in the living room as I rushed through, barely pausing to grab my jacket on my way outside.
I had to get away.
I had to get control of myself.
