Page 29 of Rampant

“After what I did to you, how can you not want me locked up?”

“You know how I feel about you. I want to be with you so badly, it hurts.” She reached a hand out and curled her tiny fingers around my larger ones. “I thought you were dead, then Zach said you weren’t. He said you couldn’t forgive me, and I fell for it, Rafe. He had me so far out of my mind that I believed you didn’t care enough to come after me.”

I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I treaded carefully. “Alex, what do you need me to do?”

“Forgive me. Take me away from here.” She started sobbing, and the sound clashed in my chest, two warring emotions. Part of me glorified in those tears, a feeling that disturbed me on such a deep level, I thought I might vomit. The other part wanted to wrestle away her demons and pound them to dust.

“Alex.” Her name escaped the vise strangling my throat. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

She rolled to her side, her back facing me, and curled into a tight, protective ball. “You can’t forgive me. I understand.”

I clenched my teeth, wanting to ask what she wanted forgiveness for. I wanted to ask her about the night I was shot. Had she shot me? Had Zach? I needed those answers, but faced with the situation, with how much I’d fucked up when it came to her, the only thing left to do was say goodbye and end this. Let her move on and heal without the memory of me hanging over her shoulder.

Leaning over, I brushed my lips beneath her ear, inhaled a scent that sparked a memory my stubborn mind believed took place just a few months ago, when I’d held her as she cried over her mother’s death. Even grief smelled good on her.

She twisted her head and pressed her mouth to mine. Breath stalled in my lungs, and the need to pin her to the bed nearly outweighed my sense of decency. Whatever my head didn’t remember, being this close to her, our mouths moving together in hunger, the taste of her rioting through me, revived something primal inside my being.

A snarling beast that wanted to claim.

I tore my lips from hers. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” I stumbled across the room and wrenched the door open, and a heavy weight pressed on my chest, urging me to get the fuck out of there while I still could.

Her gut-splitting wails haunted me down the hall, long after I shut the door.

“How are you sleeping, Alexandra?”

I sat in one corner of the shrink’s couch, feet curled under me. Feigning indifference, I shrugged.“Same.” I’d left the hospital eleven days ago. The first few had been pure hell while my mind and body adjusted to going without a daily dose of ecstasy. I’d barely left my bed, despite feeling restless and unable to sleep much. Every part of me hurt, from the pieces of my fractured heart to the deep ache in my muscles.

“Still having nightmares?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sandra crossed her legs. “Do you want to talk about them?”

I shook my head. I still had a difficult time addressing her by her first name, but she’d insisted. This was my second visit and I didn’t want to be there, but my father made it clear I didn’t have a choice. The hospital discharged me under his care, especially after I fed his bullshit to the police. My years of lying had worked in my favor; they’d bought the story.

Alexandra De Luca had suffered an episodic break, just like her mother. With shame, I remembered how I’d confessed to pushing my car into the river before hiding out at a cabin I’d heard my brother talk about. I’d even confessed to carving Zach’s name into my stomach.

There were holes in my story, of course. Like how I’d arrived at the cabin, or how someone just happened to find me in time to call 9-1-1. They accused me of withholding information, of protecting an accomplice in my disappearance. But ultimately, they believed what my father wanted them to, and because of my warped version of the truth that didn’t point the finger at anyone other than myself, Zach was safe from prosecution. So was Rafe.

So long as I cooperated and did everything my father asked, which included weekly appointments with the stranger sitting across from me. Anything to perpetuate the facade of a mental breakdown. At least I’d gotten to choose the shrink studying me, trying to read me with her analytical stare.

“How are you doing on the anti-depressants?”

I shrugged again. “Okay, I guess.” I was starting to feel like me again, so that was probably a good thing, though being me wasn’t much better than the version of myself who’d hit rock bottom while Zach held me captive.

“I’m here to help you,” Sandra said, as if I needed to be reminded. “Part of you must want my help, or you wouldn’t have sought treatment.”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s complicated. My father thought I should come.”

She wrote something down on the annoying notepad propped on her knee. A long black and white skirt flowed down her legs, the hem brushing her sandaled heels. From the decor in her office to the hip clothing she wore, she displayed a chic and competent style.

“Are you close to your father?”

A bitter laugh escaped. “Definitely not.”

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