“Please!”
Her voice pierces my ears so harshly I can feel the razor of it in my gut. The pain rings sharply in my head, and I boil over in red-hot revolt, clenching her frail neck in my hand, choking her. My body burns in a pyre of grief and fury as she clings to my arm, and her touch spurs me to plunge my fingers deeper into her flesh, clamping the trachea that lies beneath, cutting off her air supply.
A hoarse gurgle is the only sound she makes as her tear-filled eyes lock to mine. They shine bright from crying, and my tendons yearn to squeeze even tighter. There’s so much colliding inside of me, I can feel it in my teeth, so I grit them to keep myself from biting and ripping the skin off her.
I want to kill her. I want to punish her in the worst way possible, but when my arm begins to violently shake, her mouth and eyes instantly pop open wider, and I release my hold.
I can’t kill her.
She falls to my feet, gasping and coughing wretchedly as I rake my hands through my hair.
What the hell is happening to me?
The touch of her hands around my ankles gets my attention. Looking down on her, she’s resting her cheek on top of one of my loafers. My breathing is heavy as emotions swarm, and it’s in the moment she looks up at me, broken at my feet, that I give my final word.
“Leave.”
I kick her hands off my legs and walk out of the room, leaving her to show herself out because if I have to look at her for one more second, I won’t be able to forgive myself for what I might to do.
This woman has ruined me.
I’m a fucking monster.
Obliterated beyond my own recognition.
And it was all for naught.
MAKEUP COVERS MY marred neck as I give myself a once-over before heading out. My body is wounded in delicious bruises and scabs from the man my heart still yearns for. When I look at them, it’s like he’s still with me—his lingering touch I feen for on my body.
It took me a while to collect myself and leave his home the other day. Hopelessness consumed every inch of existence—it still does. I was weak, curled at his feet, sobbing on his perfectly polished shoes when he kicked me away and left me lying on the ground. My words did nothing but enrage him to the point he lost control. Declan never loses control—he thrives on it, needs it to function. But I could see the chaos swimming in his eyes as they bore down on me while he strangled me.
I didn’t panic because I’d gladly take a death upon the hands of true love.
My ticket is booked to fly back to Chicago. I don’t want to go, but I also don’t want to continue hurting Declan. He’s not the same man anymore because of me. His warmth has wasted away—no spark, no light, no love.
Nothing waits for me back in Chicago aside from a penthouse of hidden skeletons. I have no home. There’s no one waiting for me anywhere. I figure I’ll slip into town, pack up my belongings and leave the state. No longer can I live there because I’m no longer Nina. It doesn’t matter where I go though, and that thought is utterly depleting. So, I decide to attempt to escape my pitiful reality and go to Edinburgh for the day to meander around.
I drive in silence, taking in the landscape, and before I know it, I’m in the city. After parking the car, I wrap a scarf around my neck and pull my coat tighter around my body. I begin wandering around the Grassmarket with the Edinburgh Castle towering above. The cobbled, winding streets are lined with a vast array of shops from designer to vintage. I pick up a few things from various stores: soaps, perfumes, a pair of shoes, and an old necklace with a weathered lotus charm. I’m not sure why I bought the lotus necklace, knowing the sadness it’ll undoubtedly bring when I look at it, but I just had to buy it regardless. I buy because I don’t know what else to do.
My gut is hollow. I’m in a never-ending state of anxiety, and this is my attempt at distracting myself. It’s not helping though, so I find a pub to grab a drink, and when I walk into The Fiddler’s Arms, I immediately make my way to the bar. The place is filled mostly with men, drinking lagers and whiskey. I spot an empty stool and take a seat.
The bartender places a drink napkin in front of me, saying, “What can I get you?”
Taking a quick look at the tap handles, I don’t recognize the names, so I randomly pick one. “Stropramen.”
He gives me a nod, begins to fill the mug, and then sets it in front of me. I slip my coat off and hang it on the back of the stool, and then take a long, slow drink in hopes that it dulls out the intensity that’s inside of me. I lean forward and close my eyes, focusing on the noise around me, wanting to get lost in it, and when I open my eyes, I spot familiar ones staring back at me from the opposite side of the bar.
A grin grows on Lachlan’s face, and he nods to the empty seat next to me in a gesture to join, and I give him a small, inviting smile.