“Nothing is going on between us. Nothing ever will. It was all about convenience. You were in my house; you were clearly willing. All you were to me is a shiny new toy—and I like breaking in my toys.”
Tears shine in her eyes. Each and every one of them makes me want to bite my tongue right off. “Y-you’re lying…” She backs away, pale and trembling.
It’s better this way, urges the sickeningly cruel voice in my head. Keep going. Push past the point of no return.
“Why would I lie? You saw the women that came before you. What makes you think you’re any different? I just had to pretend in the beginning, to give you a reason to stay. It was easier than I thought—”
“Don’t.”
“—but like all new things, the shine wears off. The novelty wears off. You’re no different.”
A lone, fat tear slides down her cheek. She turns and runs into the bathroom. But even after she’s slammed the door on me, I can hear her crying. Loud, hurt sobs that echo inside the walls of my head.
What have I done? What the fuck have I done?
I push down the panic and try to think rationally. I did what I had to do.
So why does it feel so fucking bad?
48
ALYSSA
It’s been days since our blowout.
The tape I pasted over the cameras has been removed. Svetlana brings me trays of food three times a day, but most of the time, the trays go back up untouched. I’m sure she’s informing Uri of that fact, not that it changes anything. He still doesn’t come back down here.
Which checks out, really. He told me that he didn’t give a shit about me. I was the fool who was holding out hope that he was lying. And I wouldn’t be doing that if I didn’t have feelings for him.
Stockholm Syndrome is a motherfucker, as it turns out. I’m a therapist’s wet dream at this point. If I didn’t laugh about it, I’d have to cry about it, and Lord only knows when that would end.
I’ve indulged in tears often enough these last few days. It always begins the same way. I start reliving every moment that Uri and I have shared together. Not just the intimate stuff, but everything else. The conversations. The picnics. The side glances that felt like more than just a little peek when I thought he wasn’t looking.
Despite the awful things that he said to me, I can’t bring myself to believe that everything we shared before then was a lie.
I keep going around in circles until my head hurts and my stomach aches and I can’t think straight anymore. I’ve contemplated asking Elle for help, even if it means involving the police, but I still can’t bring myself to pull the trigger.
Why, though?
Why am I still protecting him?
I’ve asked that question to the empty room more times than I can count. I have yet to receive an answer.
I spring to my feet when the bolt unlatches. Svetlana appears like clockwork for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This is not one of her standard times. Which means it might just be—
“Lev.”
He pushes his head in uneasily, his eyes flitting around the room like he’s scared of something jumping out at him.
I haven’t seen him for days, so I assumed that Uri had ordered him to stay away from me. But I’m so relieved to see him. I’m so desperate for human contact. For any kind of contact.
He slips into the basement and closes the door but he stays pasted to the wall. His eyes never stop moving.
“Lev,” I say gently as I approach him, “are you okay?”
“I… need something.”
I smile reassuringly. “Okay. What do you need? If you want, I can help you look.”
“I need… something… I can’t remember.”
“That’s okay. How about you just hang out down here with me and I’m sure you’ll remember at some point?”
He nods like he’s agreeing, but he still doesn’t move from where he’s plastered against the wall. He lifts his eyes to me and then drops them again. As he does, he mumbles something so fast that I have no idea what he said.
“I’m sorry, Lev. I didn’t catch that.”
“You look sad.”
Oh. I keep my cringe on the inside so he doesn’t see it. “I suppose I was a little sad. But I’m not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re here, duh.”
That gets him to lift his head again at least. There’s a tiny, shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I gesture for him to join me in the reading nook that I’ve turned upside down in the last twenty-four hours.
“W-what did you do?” Lev asks, stopping short.
Oh, shit.
“Sorry, Lev. I was bored and I just started moving things around. If you don’t like it, we can change it back.”
His eyes dart around the space, taking it all in. All the changes. The little signs that I’ve been here, in his space, with his things. The panic builds in him like steam pressure. The speed of his eye twitches increases, his chin wobbles, the fingers of one hand tap against the inside of his other wrist again and again…
“Lev, listen to me, it’s all gonna be okay. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.”
He takes three big breaths but his eyes never stop their erratic veering. “I… I… I…”
“Lev, sweetheart, listen to me. Nothing has changed here. Your books are still your books. Your chairs are still your chairs. Your beanbags are still your beanbags. It’s just a different set up… and it works a little better. See? You can reach the shelves from here.” I’m dancing around like an idiot trying to distract him from his too-big feelings. “We can put everything back if you really don’t like it. I promise.”
His hands have stopped shaking but he is rocking back and forth on his heels now. He looks at me and opens his mouth. I brace for the worst. Then he says…
“Why do you look like that?”
I blink. “Um, how do I look?”
His brow furrows. “Like a… crazy person.”
I stare at his deadpan expression for a moment. Then I burst out laughing. I laugh so hard that Lev actually takes a step back. “Oh, God—you know what, Lev? I feel like a crazy person.”
I comb through the knots in my hair with my fingers but I give up after I get stuck a couple of times. I probably should change out of these PJs, too. I’ve been living in them the last two days. They probably reek right now, both of B.O. and desperation.
“I’m sorry, Lev,” I say with a sigh as I run my hands over my face. “I don’t mean to freak you out.”
The rocking continues. “People say I’m crazy.”
I stop short and take a step towards him. He flinches so I hold my ground. “Who says that to you?”
“Just… people.” He shrugs. “When I go out, they stare. When I talk, they laugh. Sometimes, they just say it to my face.”
I grit my teeth, anger flooding through me so fast that I’m pretty sure my face turns red. “You’re not crazy, Lev,” I tell him softly. “Don’t let anyone make you believe that.”
“You’re not crazy, either,” he says. “Even though you look like it.”
I snort with laughter. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”