Page 80 of In Shadows We Dance

“Come in.”

The door swings open, and Dad steps inside, his gaze zeroing in on me immediately. “What is going on?” He doesn’t even pretend to make small talk.

“Nothing.” The word comes out too quickly.

“I don’t believe you. You’re acting strange. Distracted. Nervous. Is something going on at school?”

“It’s just school. Senior year is stressful, I told you that.”

He steps closer, and his eyes drop to my neck. My hand flies up too late to hide the bruise.

“What is that? Did someone do something to you?”

“No.” I snap the word too fast again.

“Is this what you’re hiding? Are you sneaking around with a boy?” his voice rises, and there’s no mistaking the accusation in it.

“No! I’m not doing anything.”

“Stop lying to me.” His voice bounces off the walls. “I’ve given you rules to protect you, Ileana. But this …” he gestures to the bruise on my neck. “This isn’t safe.”

“You’re not protecting me!” The words erupt before I can stop them, louder than I mean them to be. “You’re controlling me. You run my whole life! I’m not a child anymore.”

He recoils, and my face heats up. His voice is flat when he next speaks. “As long as you live under my roof, you’ll follow my rules. That includes not sneaking around, and notlyingto me.”

“I’m not lying.” My voice is lower now.

His expression tightens, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Dinner’s ready. Do your homework afterward.” He turns and walks out, leaving the door open behind him.

I slump against the bed, my heart hitting my ribs so hard it makes me dizzy. The fight buzzes in my ears, anger and guilt twisting my stomach.

I want to run after him, to explain.

I want to scream at him that he can’t rule my life this way. That I’m suffocating. That I’m nobody, and I can’t live like this anymore.

I want to say something that will make all this make sense.

But I don’t do any of it. Instead, I follow him out of the room, and take my place at the dinner table. Tension fills the air. Mom tries to make conversation, but her eyes move between me and Dad.

“You’ve barely touched your plate.” Mom’s voice is soft. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just tired. Looking forward to Fall break.”

Dad grunts, but doesn’t say anything, and I excuse myself as soon as I can, retreating back to my room. I try to study, but my gaze keeps going to my bag, to the rose inside. Finally, I give in, tossing my book aside, and cross the room. Unzipping my bag, Ipull the rose out slowly, my fingers brushing over the petals. The thorns are sharp, and I run my thumb just above them, careful not to press too hard.

Why didn’t he come to school today? Why does it bother me this much?

The question burns, but what scares me more is the truth I won’t admit out loud.

I missed him.

The thought leaves me breathless. I missed the way he watches me. I missed the way his presence makes everything more vivid. I missed feeling like I was the center of his attention, no matter how terrifying it is. Without him, today felt empty.

I grip the rose tighter. I should throw it out, rip the petals from the stem and scatter them like ashes, but I don’t. Instead I walk to the window, and set the rose down on the sill.

The latch is stiff under my fingers as I unlock it and push the window open. The cold air rushes in, and I shiver.

What am I doing? Is this an invitation? A signal? Or am I just trying to prove something to myself?

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