Page 62 of Property of Chaos

I tilt my head a fraction, mouth open, and a slight frown mars my brow.

I feel like a goddamn tourist in my own home.

“Whatever,” I whisper under my breath, dropping my focus to the phone again.

Come to think of it, how the hell will I even know if he has fucked with anything? I open Google first and check the search history.Nothing.Only what I looked for last night. Although…Swear I searched for that first.Is the order wrong? I can’t be sure.

I open the social apps next, rotating through the three I felt comfortable creating accounts for. The first seems as though nothing is amiss. The second… Eh, can’t be sure. I open the last and stop breathing for a second.Oh.Yeah.That’show I’d know.

I scroll, thumb flicking faster and faster as the feed refreshes, throwing up more and more of the blatant signs that Chaos has been in my phone:hisposts. Pictures of motorcycles, landscapes, people, and, most addictingly, glimpses into his life. He connected us.Wow.

I lift my head and squeak out a choked scream, the fucking phone falling from my fumbling hand. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

He lies facing me, head laid on his propped arm while he goddamn watches me stalk his profile like a fucking creep.Well—he did do it first.

“Ain’t anything wrong with me, babe.” His sleep-husked voice has no right to evoke those reactions in me. “Not now, anyway.”

“When did you get here? How long…?” I duck to retrieve the phone and realize what a goddamn mistake that was when my T-shirt gapes at the neck hole.

He lifts an eyebrow, lips curling at the corners.

I slam a hand to my chest, pinning the cotton to me, and back slowly toward the window again. “Hope you enjoyed that because it’s not happening again.”

“Dream killer,” he mumbles, rolling to his back. “Didn’t look at the time when I got in, but I’d say you’d been asleep for a few hours considering the drool line you had going on.”

Oh my God…“You’re an asshole.”

He chuckles, pearly-white teeth showing with his smile.Damn it, I want to make him do that again.His joy is such a beautiful sound.

I dart across to the doorway and snatch the pages off the floor. “I read what you said.” My thumb traces the edge of one of his words, my focus glued to the purple text. And I know why.

I can’t stomach the look on his face right now—whatever it is.

“What did you think?” My bedding rustles as he moves, denim scraping over the comforter.

“You mean, did I agree with what you thought?”

“If that’s how you want to see it.”

I sigh, rumpling the pages in my fist. “It’s too late, Chaos.” I peek from beneath my brow. “I can’t change.”

He sits propped against my headboard, the wide expanse of his inked chest on glorious display, his hands resting beside his thighs. Chaos tilts his head a little and sighs. “You can, Vanessa. You’ve got to let go of the past to be able to, though.”

And haven’t I heard that before?Just move on. Let go of what they did. Stop giving them the power. Forgive and move past it all.As though it’s that fucking easy. As thoughyearsof abuse can be undone with the snap of my fingers.

“Did you even read everything I wrote?” I unclench my fist and shuffle the wrinkled pages to the one I need, reciting, “If I let the past lie, it means they won, and I can’t get past the anger that invokes. Accepting the hurt and the pain means they were right to do it. And if I don’t hold them accountable, who will? Worst of all, I can’t shake the belief that people ask me to move on to stop drawing their eyes to the injustice. To stop makingthemfeel guilt for their inactivity regarding his sins. That by doing nothing, they gave him everything—they enabled his abuse. By burying the pain inside me to fester and rot, I’m giving them the easy way out. I’m admitting that I don’t matter—not enough, anyway, to warrant them fighting for my justice.”

I swipe away my tears with the back of my hand.Fuck this shit.What would it take for me to get closure? What do I want from the world?

The silence stretches between us, painful seconds passing where the weight of his judgment multiplies, forcing me to the floor. I drop to my ass, pages crinkling between my fingers; I resist the urge to shred them. To destroy the shameful evidence.

I may as well destroy myself.

“Ness,” he finally whispers.

I ignore him. The pressure in my chest is too much. The burn behind my eyes too hot.

“Ness,” he repeats more forcefully. “What did I tell you when I was last here?”

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