Page 59 of Black Ledger

How could he say that even after I flinched when he touched me?

I bit my lip. Embarrassment blossomed on my face, and I felt it in my burning cheeks. God, I couldn’t even be comforted by my best friend. I’d been fractured that badly. I wanted to whimper and curl into a ball, but I didn’t.

I locked everything away and asked, “You made sure you’d never get caught, right?”

“Yes, the cops will just think he drove his sports car off a bridge, and his body went missing,” he reassured me. “We made it look like a terrible accident. There is a sappy memorial for him on campus tomorrow. He was known for drunk driving. No one is even questioning a thing.”

“Good.” Relief loosened a knot inside of me. My pulse spiked. “You never get to leave me because of something as stupid as going to prison.”

“Yes, Zaya.” He rolled his eyes, and I hit him in the shoulder.

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he said gravely. “And you will never leave me. Full stop.”

He leaned slightly toward me, unconsciously, and my entire body went rigid. Fuck. I was like a feral cat, jumping at any unexpected movement. Fuck. I hated myself for it. I peered up at him through my lashes, and I tensed even further. His eyes were a sea of troubled blue. He knew. He saw. Fuck.

My heart pounded against my ribcage.

I didn’t process what he had said for a whole minute, and then his words struck me through the chest.

Never leave me. Full stop.

Heat spread through my chest. I had never planned on leaving him.

But then I already had.

I left him in New York and came to Chicago. Had that affected him deeply?

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and nodded. “Okay, I won’t,” I said, my voice low.

An awkward silence passed between us, neither of us knowing what to say or do. I tapped my fingers on my leg, and the motion made me remember the flinch. Was I so fucking broken that I couldn’t even tolerate the touch of my best friend? The man who had skinned a man alive for me?

My embarrassment and self-loathing were like a noose, circling my throat and strangling me. It was too much. I had to get away from it. “Well, I guess I should leave.”

He didn’t move or say anything.

“Right, yeah, I’ll leave,” I said again, standing up.

“Are you okay, Zaya?” he asked, a deep concern lacing his voice.

No.

My nostrils flared, but I faced him. How could I tell him or anyone the depths of my fear and pain and stupidity? I never should have trusted Chad. I never should’ve taken a drink from him or let myself be alone.

It was all my fault, and I didn’t know how to make it better.

And everyone knew.

They knew how weak and stupid I was.

But worse than all of that, I struggled with being touched. Anytime someone so much as grazed me, it felt like my skin was on fire, and I wanted to peel it all off.

“I’m…” I gulped. “Yes. I am fine.”

“Liar,” he said in Russian. “You’re a liar, Zaya.”

Yes. I fucking was, because the truth was intolerable. The truth was pathetic, and I didn’t want anyone to see it or know just how deeply I was fractured. It was just drugs and an attempted rape. He didn’t even manage it. How could I be so deeply and irrevocably affected?