So I walk to the closet and rifle through the jackets until I find what I’m looking for. The black suit jacket hidden in the back is yanked off the hanger and brought to my face. His scent has long since faded, but I like to pretend it’s there. This pathetic little ritual of mine is one of the only comforts I have left in this life. It’s amazing how when your world is so dark and unsettled how you can find comfort in the smallest of things. This material comforts me. But it has nothing to do with the jacket itself and everything to do with the memory it invokes.
My dark prince. The reaper. The man who spilled blood for me without pause. For that reason alone he’ll always be on a pedestal that no other can reach. He’ll always be the memory I revisit in my darkest of times.
I sneak out the front door and walk down the hall of our building, opening the door to the stairwell. Every step I take towards the top burns my legs after a full night of dancing, but I forge on. When I reach the rooftop door, my arms are so weak I can barely open it. But I do.
And with each step that echoes off the cracked cement, I feel better. The air that fills my lungs is cool and crisp. Clean and unsullied. That’s why I love it up here. The fact that I can see the entire city doesn’t hurt either. I like to count the streets leading out of it. Imagining myself on one of those roads, going somewhere. Anywhere but here.
I find my usual spot up against the brick wall and sit down, curling my knees into my chest and wrapping Ronan’s coat tighter around me. My head falls back against the cool brick and I glance up at the stars, trying to piece together constellations in the night sky. But just like my life, they are nothing but a jumbled up map of dots that don’t connect, and they only leave more unexplained questions.
I don’t know how long I sit there for. After a while, my body grows numb from the cold. My shoulders and eyes are both heavy with exhaustion, and I know I should go back inside. But I can’t find the energy to move. To care about anything. So I let my eyelids drift shut for just a moment to rest and sleep swiftly carries me to another place and time.
***
“Apologize,” Blaine orders. “And I’ll forgive you.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him robotically.
This is one of his favorite games. Humiliation is just one of the many weapons in his arsenal of torture. And there is never forgiveness to be had, no matter how small the slight, or in most cases-how imaginary.
His dark irises are completely overshadowed by the blackness of his pupils, and that’s how I know he’s on the verge of another rage. He always gets agitated, restless, and his eyes go black. I can see these events coming now. Others look at him and think he’s just in a bad mood. But I know different. I know that bad mood will build and build inside of him until there’s nothing but pure rage, and that eventually, it’s going to explode on me.
I glance up at him, waiting for the next poisonous arrow he will fling my way. I’m so tired. Physically and emotionally exhausted. I’m living my life from one breath to the next. My body and mind have shut down, but there’s no escaping this hell.
I invited chaos into my life the moment I agreed to his relentless requests for a date. He was obsessed with me the moment he saw me. Back then, I was young enough to be flattered by it. I keep thinking that maybe if I hadn’t accepted, things could be different. That he would have moved on. But somehow, I know that isn’t true.
What Blaine wants, Blaine gets. By any means necessary.
I don’t know what he sees in me. But it’s something he needs to have. It doesn’t mean he loves me. It doesn’t even mean he’s exclusive to me. Blaine fucks whoever he wants wherever he wants… but still he demands that he owns every part of me. It’s never enough though. There will never be enough of me to satisfy him.
I used to be one of those people who couldn’t understand how women could get themselves into a relationship like this. Or how they would stay. But it isn’t that simple. It’s never been simple with Blaine.
Fighting with him is like fighting with a child. Only, one who is prone to violent outbursts. He keeps me in check by holding Emily and my mother over my head. I know what he’ll do to them. There isn’t a scrap of doubt in my mind about that. I’m trapped in his clutches, and I may as well have signed my own death warrant. There is no escaping him. There is no escaping the mafia.
These are the hard facts. The only facts I know. There isn’t a court order in existence that can shield me from him.
“Get down on your knees and beg me,” he orders. “Tell me how sorry you are.”