Chapter 9

When I was little, I got into a bad accident. I don't remember the details very well, but I do know that it almost killed me. Mom doesn't like to talk about it whenever I ask and even dad seems to back away if I bring it up—it must have been really bad.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital room surrounded by doctors with shocked faces. Like my being awake was some miracle. I reached up and touched my forehead with weak arms…it hurt a lot. I looked all around, I looked for an answer. I didn't understand what was happening…I was so scared.

Weeks after rehabilitation, I began having nightmares. I was falling, falling, falling—deeper into a dark, endless pit while the light disappeared over my head. I was weightless, suspended in viscous fluids, desperately clawing my way out. I couldn't breathe, scream, I could barely see anything. I didn't handle the fear well.

I have never been a mentally strong person. I have to avoid confrontation like the plague, I can't deal with conflict. I allow myself to be hurt in so many different ways, and I let my own selfish needs come before the needs of those that I care for. I love too hard, I hurt too much. I'm so consumed with my work because I believe if I have something that I'm dedicated to, I can't fall anymore. It keeps me grounded.

When then nightmares stopped, I was about 12 years old, four years later. I don't know exactly what caused them to go away, but I do know that after three nights in a row of waking up without screaming and shaking and sweating, I was better—or at least I was getting better. I was healing, and I don't care how. I just wanted to be at ease, I wanted my mind to not be jumbled and filled with scattered pieces of who I once was.

But that's not what I got. What I got instead was an even bigger problem, the problem of who I was internally…the present me—the worst version of me. The me who can't open her mouth and say anything because she too afraid of falling again. I would have done anything to not go back to the days where I was too afraid to close my eyes and fall asleep, too afraid to speak to anyone, too afraid to die.

What's inside of me is chaotic, but it's safe. I relish the chaos, it has become my home. I'll stay here for as long as it takes.

And it may just be forever.

xxx

I jumped slightly and held my cup of tea steady at the sound of something being slammed against my table. I'd been eating peacefully near the far back of the cafeteria at school, trying to enjoy my lunch break alone. The dining hall was mostly empty aside from a few stragglers. I'd gotten here late, so there were no lines and it was fairly quiet.

Was.

Lance was looking down at me with a tense, eerie expression. He pulled the chair on the opposite side of the table out and sat across from me. I then noticed a huge Biology textbook in front of him…Anatomy & Physiology? What on Earth does he need that for?

Lance and I had a small stare down before he finally let out an exhausted sigh and pressed his hands to his face, dragging the skin down as he moved them away.

"Jillian…" He whined, using my first name. No one in our family calls me Jillian except for dad. Lance used to call me Jilly when he was a tiny, pint sized thing, but that went away a little while after he turned 9. Whenever someone calls me Jillian, it's because either they have messed up, or I have.

I said, "Delancey?" In a bored, sing-song tone, using his full name as well.

"Please tell dad to let me move back home." He said, not beating around the bush at all. I'd expected more of an ease into the subject, but he just tackled it head-on. Impressive.

I don't care if the laugh that escaped my mouth offended him. The fact he even slightly believed that dad gave a flying fuck about my opinion speaks volumes about his willingness to pay attention. He had to be joking. If he wanted someone to sway father's opinion then Blane is the person he needs to be speaking with right now—and if I know Blane, he's not going to say shit to dad.

He gave me a pleading look when I didn't respond and my smile fell.

"What's going on between you and dad is between you and dad." I mumbled.

"Ziggy please."

"Now I'm Ziggy, hm?" I hummed, brought my mug up to my mouth and took a sip, my eyes never leaving his.

He gave me a solemn look. "I'm really sorry that I hit you…" Okay…sidetracked.

It doesn't even matter at this point—it didn't matter when he did it. The bruise has almost completely healed now, you couldn't even see it anymore. I could care less about it. Lance's nose looked a lot better, too—not great, but better. His eyes weren't purple anymore, but he still had a redness around the bridge and nostrils.

I decided to humor him. "You know what I hate the most about the word sorry? It gives people the false indignation that mistakes can be magically solved by a single word. Sorry doesn't mean anything to me. It's a statement that holds no purpose and gives people permission to hurt you." I gritted.

Lance didn't respond to that, instead his mouth hung open and his eyes found the table. He looked like I'd just slapped him.

Apologies are pointless. They don't mean anything in the grand scheme, and they can't reverse time. After saying sorry over and over again to the same person and getting an equal amount of pain in return, I've learned to forgo accepting that word as repentance.

"Lance if you want to move back in, which I don't advise because you need to learn responsibility, you have to prove to dad that you're not dead weight." I explained.

"Dead weight? What did I do that was so wrong?" He asked exasperatedly.

This has to be a joke. He can't be serious.

"You have no passion for anything. You're a burnout. You don't care about yourself or anyone else!" I retorted, slapping my hand on the table at the last word. I was so damn angry and I don't know why. Not at my brother—there was something nagging at me, but it wasn't Lance.

His brows pulled in and he took a deep breath. "I want to see mom—"

"Then come and see mom! Dad never said you weren't allowed to come visit, he just said you couldn't live there anymore. By all means, come see mom! She's been asking about you constantly!"

"Did you tell her that dad kicked me out? Did he tell her?!"

"She knows, Lance. You don't think she knows? You don't think it hurts her that you're gone? Mom isn't heartless—she misses you, hell even I miss you. But you're on a road leading to nowhere and it's detrimental. So much so that even mom can't stand to intervene. You need to sort your shit out!"

"It's hard, okay?!" He said finally, his voice raising a bit too much as he did.

I glanced around at the nearly empty cafeteria; no one had even looked up. When I looked back to him he had his face tucked away in the palms of his hands.

I softened a bit, my shoulders loosening. "Do you want to explain to me exactly what is so hard?"

"Growing up, figuring out who I am, moving on, being one thing for the rest of my life. It's terrifying…"

My eyes widened into dinner plates. What did he just say?

I reached out and grabbed one of his hands, pulled it away from his face. His eyes were tense and filled with fear and doubt. Oh my goodness he's serious.

"Lance…why did you never tell me you felt this way?"

He laughed once. "What difference would it make? You pity me and things are just magically better?"

I grabbed his cheeks in both of my hands and held his gaze with mine. "Listen to me Lance. You do not have to be one thing your whole life, okay? You can be anything you want. Anything! But you have to start somewhere, don't you? Why do you constantly use drugs and alcohol to constitute your fear? It's not healthy."

He sighed, rolled his eyes. "There's no point to anything. I'm the 4th child. Dad doesn't care what I do. He has Blane and Jane—and then he has you, and you're 10x better at me in everything. I fucked up in high school, I'm fucking up in college…I'm basically worthless."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and bit back the sadness that twisted my gut. I'd no idea my little brother felt this way. He's always so carefree about everything. All he does is party and drink and dick around with his friends in God knows where. Dad just gives him money and he skips town every other month doing God knows what. He actually had this deeply rooted self-esteem issue?

"You are not worthless Lance. You just want everyone to think that you are so you don't have to put in effort. Do you even realize how smart you are?" I argued profusely. He just looked away, not saying anything.

I know what it's like to not be good enough, that's pretty much been my whole life. In high school I was hated, bullied, tormented—and I let it happen. I never said anything, I never went to a teacher or my parents. I felt like if it was happening to me—someone else was being spared from the pain and humiliation. I felt like I was making a difference, but I was wrong. It messed me up mentally, even more than I already was. I can't be open with people anymore, I can't trust strangers, I struggle to reject others, and I can't hurt anyone in any way, even if it means that I'm getting hurt by doing so.

"Ziggy…" Lance said, snapping me from my reverie.

"What is it?" I choked, failing to stay strong for him at the moment. I have always wanted my siblings to feel like they can come to me for anything, that they can depend on me. But they both trust Blane way more than me, hell even I trust Blane more than me. He's the one that we dump everything onto, he's like father #2.

"I want to be an astronaut." He whispered and then his eyes flickered to mine quickly.

I blinked a few times, then shook my head to clear it. "What?" I whispered and he groaned, then threw his head back.

I was searching my mind, trying to piece together the short sentence he'd just said to me. "You…want to be an astronaut?" I repeated slowly, my eyes wide and I stared at the half-eaten kale salad on my tray.

"Yes." He said quietly.

"Are you serious?" I asked. I wasn't trying to be mean, I really just needed to know if he was messing around or not. I've never heard Lance mention anything like this before, not even once.

'I want to be an astronaut' is something that children say all the time, but Lance is 20, he's an adult…and he didn't sound like he was saying it for shits and giggles. That's typically something that no one says for shits and giggles.

"I'm serious." He breathed, his eyes filled with so much honesty. "I've wanted to be an astronaut for years. I want to work on the space station, go to Mars…all of it. I just never told anyone because I thought you would all laugh at me, okay?"

I bit down on my bottom lip and then nodded. "Okay. You should do it then, you definitely can. It's not going to be easy though, you'll have to endure years of training. You're going to need a bachelor's degree in engineering, physics, or some kind of mathematics. Computer science would work too."

"I have all the credits I need to apply to the engineering program here." He said.

"Really?" I breathed, leaning forward a bit.

"I applied yesterday morning. I'm just waiting now…"

"Lance!" I squealed and he winced at the high pitched sound. I wanted to get up and hug him, but I know it'd be embarrassing so I slapped it down. "I don't believe it—"

Lance held up his hand in a 'slow down' kind of way. "There's no guarantee that I'll even get in." He grumbled. "That's why I didn't apply sooner, I was too afraid of being rejected. But dad kicking me out was kind of a wakeup call."

"What's your GPA?" I asked quietly, preparing for the worst.

He shrugged, uninterested. "Like a 3.7 or something?"

My mouth fell open. "What?!" I screeched.

"Jeez! Why are you so loud, Ziggy?" I couldn't help it—I felt like I was meeting someone new, and for once it was actually exciting instead of awkward and uncomfortable like usual.

"You have a 3.7 GPA?! How is that even possible? You miss class all the time!"

"I miss lecture." He emphasized. "And my professors don't count attendance. So I can just make it up on my own."

"I am speechless." I breathed. He really is smart! I freaking knew it. I reached forward and pushed his shoulder. "You idiot! Why are you so self-loathing?! Of course you're going to get in—who can turn down a GPA like that?"

"I'm not exactly a model citizen, sis." He said dryly.

"Look at me!" I said, pointing to my face. When he finally turned his eyes to mine I said, "You got this."

He sighed, and I could hear the stress and tension there for the first time in forever. "I'm not going to hype myself up."

"Hey, where are you living now?" I asked, curious as to where he's been the past couple of days, and if he's been alright.

He gave me a weird look. "With Astrid."

My brows pulled in. "That one of your weekly girls?"

Lance's mouth pulled into a huge smile. "Ziggy? I've been dating Astrid for over a year now."

I gasped, "That Astrid?!" Suddenly remembering a pretty brunette girl with huge blue eyes. She was super sweet if I remember correctly, way too sweet to be with Lance who was a bullheaded testosterone fueled burnout. She matched his temper though. I'd seen it a year ago when she'd come over for a family cookout. She was a firecracker. They were like yin and yang those two, but there was no denying it with her—he'd met his match.

"I would have moved in with her a long time ago but her lease won't allow it. You know…you're as forgetful as you are dense." He chuckled.

I balled up one of my napkins and chucked it in his direction.

If one more person calls me dense I'm going to lose it.

xxx

I'd been trying to dress less frumpy lately. My wardrobe was becoming redundant and dreary, and as a result it was depressing me even further. Needed a pick-me-up. I didn't want anything too provocative, so I asked Penny to pick a couple of decent things out for me and bring them by the house the night before.

The clothes were amazing. They were simple, classy, but still had some youthfulness to them. More importantly they weren't wrinkled and faded from being washed and not ironed so often—another thing I was going to have to work on.

Today I'd gone with a pair of navy blue high-waist bellbottom slacks, a tie-around baby blue blouse and chunky white heels—nothing too tall less I fall. I'm a bit of a klutz.

The first thing that Arthur noticed when he saw me was the fact that my clothes were not the usual plaid and loose. He nodded to me politely as he walked into the lab, then did a double take.

"Nice clothes." He said quietly.

Wow, that was fast. And what an extremely awkward way of complimenting someone. I said, "Thanks."

When the question 'do I really dress that badly' arose in my head the day before, the only response was from the mouths of every single person I've ever met with their surprised words and glances, silently offering 'yep'.

I had my lab coat on when I was at work most of the time, and the coat fell all the way down to my knees, too—I'd never thought that anyone even noticed how I dressed here. Apparently so.

"I didn't see you earlier, Arthur—something happen?" I asked as he took his seat across from me at the table. He hadn't been to work all morning and usually, he'd call or tell me about it the previous day, but this time there was nothing.

"Oh, sorry about that. I just had some things to take care of and time slipped away on me." He said simply, not offering anything further. I was a bit confused, mostly because he was rather open with me. Today he seemed to be a bit closed off.

"Well, I hope everything is alright." I mumbled as I went back to my work, scribbling in my notes as I observed the blood coagulate in the heated beaker in front of me, waiting for signs of clotting to arise.

My head was down as I looked in my notepad and from my peripheral I saw Arthur lean forward against the table. Seconds ticked by and I assumed he was trying to figure out what I was doing.

"DVT." I said suddenly, looking up at him. When his eyes locked with mine they widened slightly and then flickered down to the table.

He said, "Uh, come again?" In a distracted way.

Had he just been staring at me?

I touched my face, checking to see if I'd had any leftovers from my lunch lingering around my mouth.

I shook my head to clear it and elaborated. "DVT? Deep vein thrombosis. I somehow discovered that the bacteria we're replicating hinders the clotting that arises during the ailment. The success rate is ridiculously low but…"

"How low?" He asked, his voice suddenly more focused.

I shrugged, shyly saying, "About 3-5%."

He nodded. "And in the event of failure?"

"So far? I've observed possible swelling, inflammation, pulmonary contractions, lymphoma, anemia, hemophilia, thalassemia—"

"So basically every possible thing that could go wrong?" He answered with a huge smile on his face.

I sighed, pushed my glasses back up the bridge of my nose, "Physically, the effects of DVT trump the underlying conditions. We're talking about an alternative to blood thinners here. It's experimental, but the result could possibly inhibit necrosis, detect embolism? From a medical standpoint—"

"From a medical standpoint you kill your patient, Jill…" He chuckled. "Think of it this way: here is something that may or may not get rid of your DVT. At what cost you ask? Oh nothing really, just total heart failure. Come, roll the dice."

I looked down with a small grin, fiddling with the ballpoint pen between my fingers. "I did say that its success rate was low, I didn't say it was improbable…remember?" Then, I glanced back up to him.

"Weren't you supposed to be replicating the anthrax cultures?" He asked humorously.

I uncrossed my legs and stood from the roller stool, making my way to the back of the lab. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the finished cultures from their tubes, bringing them back to the table. When I set them down he looked up to me with a humorously impassive guise.

He dryly said, "You finished replicating the anthrax cultures…"

"I finished replicating the anthrax cultures." I spoke over him swiftly, unable to wipe the smile off my face as I sat down again.

"You are an absurdly hard worker. Do you even sleep?" He chuckled.

I may have actually blushed at that compliment. I always get a bit flustered when people notice how hard I work, or notice me at all. Sometimes, I actually feel that I don't work hard enough…that I could do even better. I like to push my limits, but unfortunately it tends to reflect in my health and people worry—mostly my family.

I laughed once, my eyes finding the ceiling. "I can sleep when I'm dead. For now, there's sickness at hand." I pointed to the tray with my pen. "Could you double-check them for me?"

He was already pulling a pair of latex gloves on. He slid the tray closer and began sorting through them one by one, placing the samples beneath the microscope. "What's the prognosis?" He asked after a while, still looking down the rubber tubes.

"So far no signs of mutation—I've applied the deterrent just in case." I nodded, my mouth twisting. I was a bit anxious, but at the same time I was so confident this time around. I'd been extremely careful, and if I'm being honest the chances of recession were lessened in lieu of new found information from he-who-shall-not-be-named.

"Theodore Grey." Arthur said suddenly, almost as if he read my mind. My eyes slowly drifted up to him as he lifted his head from the microscopes viewers. My mouth had to have been hanging open because I felt air hitting the back of my throat and coughed from the dryness.

"Sorry," He said, a remorseful look on his face. "I guess I caught you off guard there. Context." He said, brows turning in.

Is that a migraine? I can feel it a-comin'. No. I don't want to even think about thinking about that monster.

"I uh…I recognized him immediately." Arthur explained. All the blood rushed out of my face. "Don't worry, I won't say anything. It's just, he's…really famous in this city. I'm surprised no one else knew who he was. He's surprisingly…intense."

"Oh god," I whined, removing my glasses and trying to rub my tired eyes without getting any mascara in them. "He didn't make you uncomfortable, did he?"

Arthur opened his mouth a bit, then closed it, opened it again. He looked like he was unsure of what to say, like if he said the wrong thing his tongue would spontaneously combust. "Not uncomfortable…per se?" He chuckled nervously. "He was disgustingly polite and all, I just got this small sense of…? Hostility?"

"I am so sorry Arthur." I breathed, holding my chest with one hand. Theodore was intimidating my colleagues and I hadn't noticed at all. I tried so hard all night to avoid looking at him, block his deep voice from filling my head and driving me crazy.

"Jill don't…you don't need to apologize to me for anything." He said, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Especially not a jealous boyfriend."

Whoa there!

I took a really deep breath before speaking, "Third time saying this: He's not my boyfriend. There's nothing romantic going on between him and me." With a huge swipe of my hand across my neck for as much emphasis as possible.

His eyes glazed over in their sockets. I knew that look; that was the 'you're full of shit' look. I was the master of that look. "Okay." He said simply and then left the conversation hanging in the air just like that.

"Honest!" I squeaked, my eyes wide as I burned holes through him. He was clearly already done with this discussion, but I really didn't want him to have the wrong idea. Theodore and I were not a couple in any way, shape, or form.

He let out a low breath, his mouth pressing into a hard line. "Jill, I have two master's degrees and a doctorate from Dartmouth. I think it's safe to say that I'm not an idiot. Plus I'm a man, I know what marking your territory looks like, and that's clearly what he was doing the other night."

Holy crap?!

"Being wrong does not equate with being mentally incapable, Arthur." I mumbled, sternly adding, "And I'm not a fire hydrant."

He face screwed up apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Hardly the moral of this story. "It's fine Arthur. If anyone should be apologizing it's me."

He wasn't looking at my eyes anymore. "What is that?"

Arthur pointed to my hand, his eyes narrowed. I looked down and identified the silver band around my pointer finger and smiled. I pulled it off and extended it to him so that he could get a better look. It was basically a ring with engravings of The Battle of Hoth from Empire Strikes back, one of my favorite movies of all time. There were small ships, snow speeders and AT-AT walkers lined across the metallic band. I'd forgotten that I still had it, found it on my dresser this morning and slipped it on without a second thought. I don't even remember where I got it from, but I've had it for years.

"Battle of Hoth." He said, his voice marking disbelief and bafflement before he focused his gaze on mine again, eyes hazy.

"The Battle of Hoth." I said gleefully, placing the ring around my finger again.

Arthur's mouth was hanging open. "You like Star Wars?" He asked flatly, as if the mere idea of it made absolutely zero sense. However the word like didn't quite placate my feelings on the franchise. Most of my young life had consisted of watching every movie back to back over a hundred times easily. I'd basically been an anomaly to my family, even more so my father when one Christmas he'd asked what I wanted and I told him a vintage Lego Death Star assembled in the early 90's. I was a huge nerd for a lot of sci-fi and future novelty movies. You name it, I've seen it, but George Lucas' films held a very special place in my heart, I adored them all…even the ones I hated.

Cough Phantom Menace Cough

"I don't like Star Wars. I love Star Wars." I nodded slowly, a small smile on my mouth.

He scratched his head confusedly and then mumbled something under his breath. I tilted my head slightly, unsure of what exactly it was that he'd said and chose not to press it. Instead, I gave him a polite smile before resuming my work once again.

I was basically done for the day, but as a substitute for returning to my parent's house and possibly facing the scrutiny or lack thereof from my recently weirdly softened father, I chose to stay and dive head first into the unknown. What I'm working on may just be an excuse to avoid facing my problems, but it was still interesting and possibly going somewhere. Where? I've no clue. No one in their right mind would actually buy the drug if I even managed to stabilize and bottle it—too many side effects.

I assessed the shift in mood from my father involuntarily. It wasn't simply that he'd changed from being really mean to a little less mean—he'd completely transformed into something I've never witnessed. I could tell that there was a warmth to him now, and I knew it was because of mom—it had to be.

As a child, riddled with ignorance and scars from head to toe because of how outrageously adventurous I was, I'd been blinded to the fact that although my dad is inexplicably cruel towards nearly everyone, when he looked at my mom…he was simply a different man. Masked with the trepidation of a past where I could only see my father looking down at me with cold and judging eyes, I'd missed how they'd shift when they set on my mother.

But I wasn't a child anymore, and with mom back practically from the dead, the subtlety was no longer hanging between his closed off features. Ever since she's returned home from the hospital the emotion has hardly left his eyes. It was within every touch, every lingered hug, every laugh she'd let out and cause his eyes to widen in wonder and fascination.

He loved her.

My chest swelled at the thought. Of course he loved her. He may be cruel towards his children at times, but that was mostly due to the Irish rebellion within us passed on from our mom which drives him insane more often than not. However, this is the woman who has been with him since day one. When he barely had a dime to his name, when they lived in a run-down apartment and couldn't make ends meet. He'd stymied and download his insecurities onto her, and she always opened her warm arms and made sure he held his head high through all of it. How do you not love a woman like that?

Father was cruel by nature. He was tough, brutal, and relentless—it's the reason he'd managed to procure and build a billion dollar construction empire from the ground up out of scrap metal and pipe dreams. While his old boss was riding him to work endless hours, plotting structures and designs until his hands blistered and turned red.

I'd looked up at my mother with horror in my tone as I asked, "Daddy did all that?"

He's a warrior. It's simply the way he is.

But that doesn't make his coldness hurt any less.

I shook the petty thoughts away with a ferocity. I'd accepted this all a long time ago, and for the most part I didn't need the mush. His attitude towards me is the reason why I'm tough as nails, begrudgingly hard working, and irreparably intelligent—he made me feel like if I wasn't, I wouldn't make it. It worked.

I'm snapped from my thoughts at the sound of Kelly bursting through the doorway with a panicked look on her face. It took her all of two seconds to finally lock in on me. "Jill." She whispered harshly.

I shot her a 'the heck is your problem' look as she sprinted to where I was, crouching down just beside me. The roller stool hissed as I pushed away from the table to get a good look at her. Her expression would easily suggest that she's just seen a ghost.

"Do you owe loan sharks money or something?" She asked with wide eyes.

There are no words to describe how weirded out and shocked I was by that bizarre question. I have never owed money in my entire life. I don't even own a credit card, just a bank card. And not to sound like a spoiled snooty brat, but I doubt that there is any amount of money I could ever owe that my father wouldn't pay off for me in a heartbeat, not that he's ever needed to or ever will—I wasn't that kind of person.

Kelly must have noticed how creeped out I was by her question because she elaborates on why she'd just asked it. "There's a huge, creepy guy in a black suit looking for you in the hallway." She shuddered out.

I blinked a couple of times, a small smile curving my lips. "I'm sorry, what?" She was actually going to have to say that again so that I could fully wrap my head around it.

"Who's looking for her?" Arthur asked, his face stony and tense.

Kelly shrugged and shook her head. Her hand wrapped around my wrist and she quickly peeked over the desk she was crouched under and peeked at the closed, motionless wooden door that led to the hallway.

I cocked a brow in her direction, eyeing her with humor. She looked like a nut. A complete lunatic. I resisted the urge to burst out laughing. "I'm sure it's just your imagination." I whispered, matching her hilariously low whisper. She was speaking to me like we were in an attic while Nazi's surveyed the house beneath us in 1950's Germany.

"My imagination? Jill, he was looking at your car in the parking lot, then he came straight into the building and right to this corridor. It has to be you he's looking for. Are you sure you didn't mess with the CIA or anything?"

"I'm a microbiologist, Kelly. Not a hacker." I said, allowing the wryness to curve through my voice as I did.

"How are you not terrified right now?" Kelly whined. She was clearly more worried about this than I was, which should probably be concerning.

"Kelly…calm down." Arthur said, holding out a hand and flicking it downwards with each word.

"Bite me, Artie." She hissed. "I am calm!"

No she isn't.

"Okay, I'll be right back." I sighed, twisting out of Kelly's grip.

She nearly toppled over from the suddenness, reached out to grab my pant leg to keep steady. "No, Jill—I can't lose you. There's so much we haven't done together yet." She cried out.

She cannot be serious. I reached down and patted her shoulder for reassurance. "I think I'll be okay."

Arthur stood, prepared to join me. "I'll come with—"

"Seriously, I'm okay!" I assured him. I was actually pretty positive who was looking for me, and I wasn't prepared to let any of my colleagues see the exchange that would more than likely end in me screaming in frustration as I'm dumped with more nonsense.

I pulled off my lab coat and threw it on the rack before straightening my pants and heading out the door. It only took one quick turn around the corner at the end of the hall before I came face-to-chest with a big, hulking person.

My eyes drifted up and settled on a pair of dark brown eyes and I rolled my own at the way the tensed at me.

I think this guy's name is Quentin? He's Theodore's other bodyguard who'd driven me home the other day after I left his house of horrors. I also identified him as the 'other guy' from the club; the one that went to get the girl who brought us the shots. It was fairly dark that night but there was no mistaking it…same person. Same cold, dark image—no hair on that shiny head of his. Is being bald a job requirement?

He was quiet as hell and it irritated me. He didn't speak a single word, ever.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "You're scaring my co-workers."

He jerked his head back and turned around as if expecting me to follow.

Shit. What the hell does he want now?! Why does he constantly page me as if I'm an animal?

I really didn't want to go but if Theodore sent him…which he obviously did…he'd be irate to find that I'd disobeyed his wishes, and that was not a road I was even remotely prepared to go down again. I could still feel the subtle sting from where he'd whipped me, not gently at all.

I didn't even hit you that hard. Bull. Shit.

His words spark an anger from me I'd managed to bat down for the last couple of days.

Asshole.

When I see him, the doubt will be eradicated. I'm going to slap him. I'll do it.

xxx

Familiar and unfamiliar roads passed by my car window, the Seattle skyline disappearing behind us bit by bit. A good twenty minute drive has left me with an irritation that I couldn't assemble into mere words…where are we even going? Am I being kidnapped right now? Is it sad that the thought of kidnapping hardly terrifies me as it should? I'm seemingly so numb to everything.

"So you just…never talk?" I asked as I shrugged, my tone bored and sarcastic. "Not even a little hum?Ever? Singing in the shower maybe? The occasional woohoo?" Quentin glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn't say anything.

That really shook things up.

Suddenly, I heard the distinct thrashing sounds of cheers and cries for victory about two blocks down a huge, gravelly road. My eyes rounded into dinner plates as the car pulled into the gargantuan, busy parking lot outside of one of the most notorious sports center's in Seattle…Key Arena. Lights and seemingly fireworks poured out of the plate glass windows and coated the dark parking lot with white matter. The enormous silver-white building along with screams and the sound of whistles echoed through the compound and left little to be desired.

The sidewalk was packed with foregoers, those who were conversing and drinking, and even more stragglers and peddlers. It was so dark outside but the building seemed to glow in contrast to the stark night, glowing wristbands and shiny phone screens reflected the business that flowed.

There's clearly a game tonight.

Game of what? I have no freaking clue. I don't really follow sports.

"What's going on?" I asked confusedly, looking into the rearview mirror and Quentin.

Quentin said nothing as he pulled into one of the Reserved parking spots directly in front of the arena. I noted the security guards as they checked the sticker on the windshield, indicated that he was allowed to be in said spot.

Quentin…or Quieton, because he doesn't talk, got out of the car and came around to my side, pulling the door open. I stepped out and straightened my blouse before grabbing my purse off the seat. Quentin escorted me through a path where no people were bumping into each other and drinking beer, to a side entrance.

We stopped in front of a small door manned by a couple more security personnel and Quentin pulled out a ticket and a VIP pass, showing it to one of them.

The one on the right nodded his approval after checking the pass before pressing his keycard to the panel and pushing the door open for us. I was motioned to go first, so I did—probably worried that I'd run away. Which I would, but you know…heels.

My eyes squinted at the huge contrast of darkness to light as I stepped into the unfamiliar space. The concrete walls looked brand new and showed no signs of history. The singular hall was narrow and bared no openings or entrances, no signs of life either. Quentin was holding a VIP pass, so perhaps this is a special entrance, thus why no people? From the looks and erratic sounds of outside, tonight was definitely a full house.

At the very end of the long tunnel there was the tiniest suggestion of light and deafening sound, and I figured that was our destination. However I still kept to Quentin's side as we walked.

I had a death grip on my purse, which was hanging off of my shoulder. I had no idea what was going to happen or why I was even here. Does this even have a thing to do with Theodore?

If before my eyes had trouble adjusting to the bit of light I was offered upon entering, the new, brightly lit space that I'd come into contact with was purely blinding. The smell of sweat and mildew perforated the heady air. The sounds of dense balls hitting the ground shook my body as the wooden floor rumbled beneath me, feet moving back and forth along the court causing my wide eyes to volley and—

BEEEEEEP!

My hands flew to my ears. The buzzer. Crud, that shit is loud. Roars followed the sound, nearly splitting my head in two.

Whoa—so this is what Key looks like. I've never been here before. Its architecture would make father weep though, it's breathtaking. Green and yellow was all over the place, packed to the brim with eager farms sporting correlating colors, hands in the air with excitement as they cheered, belted, and howled from court to bannister. There had to be over twenty thousand people in this room right now and suddenly, I felt incredibly small.

My already tight grip on my tote turned painful and I squeezed even harder.

I am not a huge fan of crowds…at all. Period.

I'm startled when Quentin taps my shoulder, pointing to his left. I nodded and began in that direction, allowing my eyes to drift to the basketball court just as a very colorfully dressed green and yellow clad cheerleading squad made their way to the center of the court as the players left. Some unfamiliar pop music began to play and they wasted no time, dancing in the most elaborate of ways, making me wish that I could dance half as well as they were.

Well, I know what sport is playing tonight. Apparently, it's basketball.

As I walked across the rumbling shaky wooden floor with Quentin in tow, my eyes drifted all over the place. They landed on the scoreboard over my head and I tried to read what teams were playing tonight, but I couldn't read something that far away without my glasses. I'm not particularly nearsighted, it's just the letters were rather small.

"Stop." A deep, familiar voice called out. My eyes snapped down quickly and landed on the source of it.

Theodore was sat back in a folding chair, his gaze halting my trembling body in place. I stood in front of him and plotted my strategy of approach. In the car, I had over a million lines that I wanted to spit at him in regards to years of his psychotic torment. However, now that he was in front of me I was completely speechless.

How do I forget how terrified I am of him when he's not near, when I can feel it in every cell of my body when he's around? Maybe I am insane. He makes me that way.

When I didn't move and continued to stare dumbly down at him his face twisted with some unspoken annoyance. He jerked his chin to the side, I'm guessing for me to sit down. He didn't speak so I turned around but Quentin had disappeared.

Job done I suppose, delivered the girl.

I noted the empty seat right beside Theodore before noting the not-so-empty seat to his opposite side.

When recognition flitted through his posh features, my blood ran cold. "Pierce?" Liam fucking Dreyfus, another small dot on the coronal plane of my suffering was sitting adjacent to where I stood, looking up to me like I was an anomaly.

I looked away before quickly lowering myself into the seat beside Theodore. That didn't help because Liam leaned forward and waved a hand at me. "Yo? Do you not remember me?"

Since Theodore was leaning back, it was easy for his beady, nearly black eyes to meet mine. He looked bizarrely happy to see me, like I was some old friend he was rekindling with after years. The mere thought of that made my stomach churn. I wanted so badly to glare at him but wisely chose against it, positioning my attention forward instead.

Do I remember you? Yes I do, but I wish that I didn't.

This man was as much of a sociopath as Theodore, possibly even more so! I didn't even want to think about all the horrible things that accompanied my memories of him. The scumbag—just a wolf in sheep's clothing. I tried keeping my gaze locked on the cheerleaders as they wrapped up their routine.

WHY am I here? I don't know the first thing about basketball. I want to go home.

I chanced a look over to Theodore, ignoring Dreyfus' attempts at catching my attention, surely enough he was looking right at me. He wasn't even trying to pay attention to the beautiful half-naked women jumping around on the court, his eyes were stoic and unwavering.

Out of nowhere he said. "Shut the fuck up, Liam. You're pissing me off." But his stare didn't move from my face. He was studying me carefully, up and down, eyes raking over my body, committing my entire being to memory.

From the corner of my eye I saw Dreyfus flash an offended face. "Someone's snippy all of a sudden." He cackled and then brought a Corona to his mouth before taking a sip. I expected him to say more or protest but he focused on the court once again, leaving Theodore to continue his silent scrutiny over me unhinged. My brows scrunched together and my gaze fell to my lap.

What does he want?!

When I woke up this morning the last thing I'd expected to be doing is sitting courtside at a packed basketball game. I had a better chance of walking out of school and being stampeded by an elephant.

I don't really hate basketball, I just don't freaking understand it. The only sport I even kind of get is baseball, and even with that game, by the 6th inning I'm shaking my head in confusion and nodding off. Anyway, with basketball…there's a point guard, right? Then there's a receiver, linebacker? Or is that football?

My head hurts.

"What are you wearing?" Theodore asked suddenly.

I looked at him like he was insane, flatly replying with "Excuse me?"

"Why must I constantly repeat myself with you? Are you hard of hearing?"

Ass. "No, I just don't understand your question. Are you hard of seeing?" I bit back, rolled my eyes.

Theodore leaned in so close that hip lips were just a breath away from my ear. "Don't piss me off Jillian, because I'm not above dragging you out of this arena, taking you to the green room and fucking you over the hors d'oeuvres table until you're screaming my name."

My core flooded with moisture at the sounds of his harsh, whispered words drifting through my ear, filling my head. I clenched my thighs, squeezed my eyes shut, bit down on my tongue until I was sure I'd draw blood.

Jillian, you don't want that—you don't want him.

I tried, "I thought you hated it when I said your name."

"I'll make a pre-coital exception." He gritted sarcastically.

Oh boy.

I took a deep breath and willed my hammering heart to slow down. "Just some things that Penny picked out for me. I'm trying to mix up my wardrobe a little bit."

He didn't respond immediately, "The way you dress is fine."

Typical. "Hence why I'm trying to mix it up." I grumbled.

"No, you idiot—" Theodore grabbed my chin with one hand, twisted my face to meet his. "I said the way you dress is fine, meaning the way you normally do. There's nothing wrong with what you usually wear. Get it?"

My voice was soft as I said, "Everyone tells me that I dress like a 1920's chamber maid." Not in those words exactly, they tend to beat around the bush, usually.

The corner of Theodore mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. It was almost one, though. "You dress like you."

The swelling in my chest accompanied by the hollowness that I felt when his hand left my face was as unforeseeable as it was unwelcome. Why would he say that to me? Was it to make me feel better so that he could stomp me down immediately after? With Theodore no compliment came without a snide remark. That simply wasn't of his nature. I wasn't going to fall privy to his bizarre advancement.

Instead of lashing out, I played his little game, offering only "Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment, but okay."

Unbelievable.

"Why are you so passive aggressive?" I huffed.

He cocked one of those arrogant eyebrows and my blood boiled at the sight of it. "I'm passive aggressive? Have you even met yourself before?"

"Just because I am doesn't mean that you aren't." I seethed. I know that I'm passive aggressive, it's basically one of my few talents. I approach everything in my life no matter how complicated and tragic with at least the tiniest glimmer of deadpan humor. If I didn't, I would have broken down ages ago. "Also, just because you don't mind the way that I dress, that doesn't mean that I particularly love it. So while your not compliment is completely unneeded, it's also irrelevant."

"I can have an entire wardrobe mocked up for you then."

My mouth went cotton dry at that declaration and I shot him a look that would have suggested he'd sprouted wings. "Why…why would you do that?"

He gave me a dead in the eyes look. "If you're going to change the way you dress, it should be something that doesn't make me want to burn Nordstrom to the ground."

I clenched my teeth together, and before I had a chance to rethink the stupid spur of the moment decision it busted out of my mouth messily. "Why are you such a fucking prick to me?"

For the first time ever, instead of Theodore's gaze darkening with anger…it flitted with amusement. "Are you high?"

Didn't see that coming. I anticipated him getting angry…I wanted him to. I wanted him to be mad. Gone was the girl who has since 6th grade jumped through hoops to avoid him, done everything in her power to keep his anger at a tolerable level. I would never in my wildest dreams imagine saying half of the things I have recently, a few years ago. However, something had changed in me, possibly the dawning realization that no matter what I did he would always hate my guts. I was ready to let go of that gnawing compulsion to make keep him from exploding. I wanted to encourage it now, but damned if I wasn't scared shitless anyway.

I held my chin high, praying to the good Lord above that I sounded confident when I said, "If I am, hopefully it's not because you stuck me with something."

"It was just a little joke…" He said lazily. Apparently, providing sexual favors on a person while they're intoxicated is all the rave in comedy now-a-days.

"You're going to rot in hell, Theodore Grey." I promised.

I tried to keep the trembling at a minimum as he pressed his chest into my arm, placed his hand on the chair behind my back and leaned into me so that we were so close I could almost taste the heat from his body.

"I know that I will." He said so quietly that I could just barely hear him over the loud thundering happening on the court. "I'm a sick fuck and I have more sins than I can count on both hands. And you're just so fucking pure, right? Just looking into those wide, ignorant eyes of yours makes my skin crawl. The worlds not always sunshine and butterflies Jillian, it's filled with things so disgusting and vile, monstrosities that you couldn't even begin to imagine. But I can assure you that there's no greater danger to you than me."

What the fuck?!

My eyes were trained in front of me, but I could just barely see anything. The players had resumed their positions and the referee stood between two towering men before tossing the basketball as high as possible, allowing the game to begin. I didn't see which side of the court the ball favored. My vision blurred, my hearing becoming a coalition of muffled rustling. I was catatonic.

There's no greater danger to you than me.

Why do I believe him with everything inside of me? I already know, that's why. No one has the power to hurt me like he has and I can't imagine anyone ever being able to again. He was a horrifying human being in every way. I don't know who hurt him, how they hurt him but I knew at that moment for certain—someone had fucked Theodore up beyond repair. He was broken and mangled to all hell and it reflected in every syllable he spit my way, every action.

Listening and paying attention to the rest of the basketball game was out of the question. I was stock still for the remainder, my gaze trained on my feet. There were so many unspoken words flowing through my mind and I ached to string them into thoughts, but it was in vain.

Dreyfus spoke animatedly to Theodore about the progression of the game with more shouts and curses than I was personally comfortable with, but he barely attempted to speak to me again which was relieving. I don't think I would have been able to handle another obsessive douchebag at the moment, I was just barely managing the one I couldn't seem to get rid of.

xxx

The car ride home was thankfully quiet. When the game ended we were barraged by people with cameras at the front gate of the arena, all of them were asking who I was and why I was with Theodore. I kept my head low as Quentin pulled out of the parking lot, using my bag to cover my head as the camera flashes continued to pour in.

I never even realized how famous he was, but then again—Grey's. They are unusually popular, that family, and I've no idea if it's because of their beauty, their money, or the fact that they are avid socialites. Either way, that kind of attention makes me gag. I'm like my father when it comes to privacy, I revel in it.

"Where are we going?" I asked with a panic in my tone. The direction we were heading was not the one to my home. Theodore had taken his own car along with his buddy, so I was alone with Quentin yet again.

Silence.

I glanced out the window again and saw the ocean passing beneath us, immediately recognizing the path. I'd been so caught up in my own thoughts I didn't even notice until it was too late. Quentin pulled to a stop in front of the familiar mansion and quickly got out, coming over to my side to open the door for me.

I glared up at him and made no attempts to move from my seat. "This isn't my house. Take me home." I demanded. His jaw clenched, but I wasn't budging. I was not going in that house.

Seconds ticked by and the big guy was clearly becoming annoyed. He pulled out his phone and began typing something. Then, he closed my door again and waited outside of it.

"Just take me home already!" I groaned, knocking on the window. "This is kidnapping!"

About a minute later and a car that I knew all too well pulled into the driveway behind the SUV. I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms in a huff.

Brilliant.

I kept my gaze fixed on the back of the seat as the door opened again. This time, it followed with an immediate, and intimidating voice. "Am I going to have to drag you out of there?"

Without hesitation, I unclicked my seatbelt and stepped out of the car. Theodore was so close to the door that my chest practically flushed against him as I righted myself, and he didn't even attempt to step away to give me space. Instead, he pressed even closer to me, using the roof of the car to steady himself with one hand. Gosh, he was way bigger than me. I tried not to notice how the muscles of his arms flexed as they peeked out from the sleeves of his black t-shirt, that wouldn't help the aching already there. My nipples were not hard as pebbles right now, no siree. His warm, hard body definitely didn't feel good pressed against mine. Nope.

I turned my face away to avoid his steady gaze, brought my arm up and placed it just below his neck, between his collarbones and pushed lightly. "You make me claustrophobic. Mind stepping back about…twenty yards?" I lied.

He turned his head slightly, looking out to the clear blue ocean that sat just below the cliff his house was located on. "Twenty yards backwards would be in the ocean." He said amusingly.

"What luck?" I sighed.

"You're so mean to me." He chuckled, and I felt it—God did I feel it in my tummy. He was pressed into me so ridiculously close.

"I seriously just want to go home, please. I have things to do tomorrow." I begged.

"Whatever you need to do, you can do it from here."

"I'm not having sex with you." I seethed.

"That sounds like a you problem."

I laughed once. "A me problem? What is? Being raped?"

Finally, I could see the something other than impassivity flash across Theodore's face, but I couldn't catch it because it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He stepped away, a good two feet, and my entire body broke into goosebumps at the darkened, hateful expression that marred his features.

Oh no.

He pointed over his shoulder. "Get inside."

"I—"

He cut me off swiftly. "Don't say another fucking word. I don't want to hear your voice, and I don't want to see your face. Get the fuck out of my sight." His voice was so low, so quiet. It scared the living shit out of me.

I put my head down and began up the driveway to the front door. When I get upstairs to the prison cell he shoved me in the night before, I lock the door and jump into the bed, pulling the covers over my head. I whispered for the morning to come quickly.

xxx

I sat up in bed with a huge breath of air at the sound of a door unlocking and opening. I pulled the covers over my body though I was fully clothed in what I'd worn yesterday. The woman, clad in the most stunning dress suit I'd ever seen with my bare eyes smiled widely at my distraught appearance. I'm sure I looked like crap right about now. I could feel the dried drool around my mouth.

"Good morning! Charmed!" She came over to the bed and extended a hand out to me. "I'm Valerie, Mr. Grey's personal stylist." I took her hand warily and shook it out of sheer politeness, but I was undoubtedly confused and creeped out. The blond haired, blue eyes lady glanced over her shoulder immediately after she retrieved her hand from me.

Behind her trailed a shorter, pudgier lady with a silver rack in tow. The rack had an assortment of dresses, blouses, and skirts—all shiny, monochrome, sleek and expensive-looking.

The lady clapped her hands together and took a deep breath. Her smile was infectious, and her beauty was understated. I really like people who are smiley all the time, and boom—loved her for no reason already. "Alright Miss, shall we get started?"

My already wide eyes widened even further. "Started?" I asked, my morning voice raspy and distant.

"With your wardrobe, of course. I'll need to know what your preferences are before I can issue a full collection for you." She went over to the rack and began picking various things and holding them at an arm's length.

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my fingers to my temples. "Hold on—wait. I don't remember asking for a…collection?"

"Mr. Grey was very clear, miss." She began, but I stopped her with a wave of the hand.

"Tell him I'm fine!" I seethed. I didn't need new clothes, I'd literally just gotten new ones the other day and I was still getting used to them. Plus, those clothes looked way too expensive and luxurious for my personal taste.

She ignored me, balancing a pair of red dress slacks and a silk black top. "I think these would look nice. Oh—how did you like the jeans and top that I laid out for you last time? Were those alright?"

"Wait a second…you were the one who set those clothes out for me?" I grumbled, pointing at her. You know what? Irrelevant. "How long have you worked for him?"

"About five years now." She came over to the bed and laid out the clothes in her hand before snapping over her shoulder. "Esther, bring me those matching pumps."

The brunette scurried over to the box beneath the rack, fishing out a pair of stunning black suede pumps and bringing them over to the bed.

The blond looked at me expectantly. "How's this?"

I looked at the ensemble. It was nice looking, but too shiny for my taste. "Not my style." I said dryly.

"Would you prefer something more matte?" She asked.

I shook my head. Matte? The hell is that? "Come again?"

"How do you feel about bright colors? Stand up for me?" She bombarded, wrapping a hand around my arm and pulling me out of bed swiftly. I wanted to protest but my mind was already running at a hundred miles per minute from all of her questions. Added to that was the drowsiness that clouded my sense of reasoning. I was never the sharpest after just waking up, and this situation wasn't helping to soothe my scattered brain.

She spun me around quickly taking in my outfit from yesterday before asking, "How do you feel about plaid?"

"Indifferent…?" I mumbled.

She nodded at that before turning around and heading back to the rack, "Esther take her measurements."

Esther…came up and began wrapping a thin strand of measuring tape around every inch of my body until she was satisfied. "I feel violated."

I didn't really, but sarcasm was a good coping mechanism.

The blond laughed at that, her eyes glowing. "You're funny."

What did she say her name was again? I didn't catch it, and I was feeling increasingly bad about it. "Victoria?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.

"Valerie." She corrected with a chuckle. She held up a stunning beige skirt to my waist. I am not a fashion savvy person, but I know for a fact that is stylish. And it didn't look flashy either, it was understated and still feminine.

I cleared my throat, begrudgingly admitting "This is nice."

Valerie looked up at me with so much hope. "Do you like this one? Me too."

She placed the skirt on the bed and Esther came up behind her with an off white ruffle blouse that was equally as gorgeous. "Why don't you try these on? They may be a bit loose because we could only guestimate your measurements, next batch will be a perfect fit. For now, we'll just adjust whatever doesn't fit correctly." She took a hanger that Esther extended to her which had a pair of black designer lingerie on it before offering it to me.

This was all just too much.

"Don't you have anything a little less…dominatrix?" I asked hopefully.

Her eyes widened and the laugh that escaped the back of her throat almost…almost made me laugh along. "I'll keep that in mind next time! For now this is the only pair that I brought along. You're about a 34D correct?"

How the fuck does she know that?

Another stupid question. I didn't protest as I took the clothes into the attached bathroom to get changed, but not before a quick shower.

xxx

Theodore was heading out the front door when I got to the bottom of the stairs. Where the hell is he going now? Does he ever sit still?! He was wearing a perfectly fitting charcoal suit and I watched in awe as he pulled his dress shoes on with ease, tapped the tip of the shoe against the floor, making sure they were snug before tying them.

"Hey!" I squeaked out, covering my mouth immediately after. His eyes snapped up to me and the calm expression he'd had turned lifeless and dark.

"Jesus Christ…" He whispered, his face twisted in confusion and disgust at the sound.

"What is your goal here?" I asked as I stormed up to him. He didn't spare me another glance, instead opening the front door and slamming it behind him. Wow, asshole.

I pulled the door open and stomped after him all the way to the driveway. "Why do you keep bringing me to your house? Why are you giving me clothes? What is going on with you? Are you losing your mind?"

No response.

Parker held the door to the SUV open and Theodore made like he was about to get in. "Theodore!" I yelled.

I haven't called his name in weeks. I was too fucking scared to because the last time I did he kicked me into a river, but today there was no river, only the ocean—and he wouldn't dare kick me for a fifty foot ledge and into there.

Theodore turned around and in my haste I bumped face first into his chest. I pushed away and looked up at him with as much determination as I could…which wasn't a lot.

"What do you want?" He asked calmly, not making any comments about me using his name.

"What do I want? What do you want? That's all I've ever wanted to know! What is it that you want from me?! What do I have to do to be rid of you forever?!" I screamed, the tears threatening to flow once again.

"You're never going to be rid of me because I've already let you go once and it was the biggest mistake of my fucking life! You're not going anywhere!" He yelled back and I'll be damned if I didn't notice the way his breath faltered as he did.

I didn't know what just happened, and I didn't want to know either, because if someone explained it to me I would laugh and then probably die. It was as if the sky had come falling down, the universe contracting into a spherical ball and offering such secrets of sin that I could never in my wildest dreams fathom. What the actual heck had he just said to me? It was surreal. Was this a dream? No. I couldn't even dream something this farfetched.

I stared as Theodore ran both hands through his hair and noted the way his chest rose and fell, no doubt due to how loud he'd just been yelling and possibly for another reason. His expression was torn, but guarded—eyes were marking a disbelief and confusion I didn't understand. One thing was certain though…what he'd just said to me…it clearly slipped out on accident. He looked completely and utterly shocked at his own words but did a really good job at hiding it.

I shrugged and slowly asked, "So…what? You missed me? Because if so, you have a really funny way of showing it. You've done nothing but demean me since I've been back, like you always did."

"Who said I did?"

"So then tell me what you mean by that! Because if you don't, I can't understand." I breathed, holding a hand to my chest. "I want to understand, I really do."

His eyebrows scrunched together. "Why?"

"Because I want to help you? Because I don't want you to be in pain anymore."

"You think I'm in pain?" He asked dryly and the sick, twisted smile that curved his mouth made my blood run cold. He was so cruel in every way. "I'm fine." He shrugged.

Liar!

"I've seen nothing but pain in your eyes since the day I met you. And I ONLY see it when you look at me! Can you imagine how traumatizing it is to live with that kind of a burden, especially as a child?! What did I do that hurt you so much?"

His face fell then, going completely blank. He shook his head microscopically. "You don't know what you saw the first time you saw me. You don't know anything."

"Then help me to! Tell me what I can do. Please." My voice broke at the last word, and I didn't bother to wipe away the angry tears that fell down my face.

"You want to fix me? You think I'm broken."

"I think we're all a little broken and there's no shame in that. I'm willing to let it go if you can give me reason to. I'd be more than willing to forgive."

"I've done nothing but hurt you and you still come back. You run away finally, but then you come back again. Then you look up at me with the fucking eyes and tell me that you can forgive me? Have you just conveniently forgotten about everything that I've done to you? Forgotten just like—" He stopped suddenly and I held my breath for what was to come next. He closed his eyes and I watched as his pained expression forced its way into an impassive one.

"I haven't forgotten the past, Theodore. The past is the past and I understand that. It's what has made me who I am, and I wouldn't change the person I've become for anything." I reached out with a shaky hand and pressed it right to his chest, over his heart. It was beating so fast. "But you, you're still there. Something is keeping you in the past. You're hurting. I don't want you to hurt anymore…" I sobbed quietly.

When I looked up at Theodore he was looking at me with an unreadable expression. I couldn't decipher the quietness of his demeanor, couldn't figure out what he was thinking.

He was again giving me nothing, bottling everything up—not divulging anything. That's how Theodore was…he was a man of few words, a man of action. Quiet, crazy smart, calculating, methodical. He would never let me see him visibly fall apart, so he was trying his best to bring it back together before things got too real. I could tell.

"Is this just what you do? You make women feel like they're trash and get a kick out of it for a while? Is this a hobby of yours?"

His eyes flashed with a rage I recognized and feared all too well, nostrils flared as he closed the small distance between us with a single step. My neck craned up to meet his deep, fathomless icy orbs. It was like looking into the abyss.

He fisted my hair when I attempted to look away and forced my eyes back to his again. I felt so helpless.

"There's no one. No one does to me what you do. No one ever has, and no one ever will. Only you."