Page 52 of Teach Me to Fly

He reaches forward for his glass, swirling it once, then brings it to his nose and slowly inhales the scent before taking a sip. I patiently wait for him to put the glass down, knowing he’s just trying to buy himself some time.

“I was busy,” he says finally, eyes fixed on the table. “Whenever I was free, it was already the middle of the night for you in New York.”

I let out a humourless laugh. “Right. Because time zones are such a bitch when it comes to texting.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak.

“So that’s your excuse, then?” I press. “You were‘busy’? Too busy for a two-second reply? For a single word?”

“Maybe we should wait for the?—”

“No,” I snap. “You disappeared, Reign. I went from hearing your voice every day to nothing. Absolute silence from you. Like I didn’t even exist anymore. Like everything that happened between us that summer, and all the things we shared meant nothing to you.”

He looks at me, desperation and anger blazing behind his blue eyes. “You had your new life. You were doing what you were meant to do, and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” I fire back. “You don’t get to ghost someone who mattered to you and then pretend it was noble.”

His expression hardens. “You left me.”

“And you let me.”

We stare at each other, the air between us taut and trembling. My heart is pounding at an impossible speed, and the wine only adds heat to the fury churning inside me.

“God,” I scoff, shoving my chair back. It scrapes against the floor as I stand and wobble slightly from the wine. “If I’d known you were just going to give me half-assed answers instead of owning up to your part in all of this, then I wouldn’t have agreed to this dinner.”

I reach into my purse, pull out a crisp wad of cash, and toss two-hundred pounds down onto the table.

“For my half,” I bite out.

I turn on my heel before he can speak, the buzz making my body sway side to side.

“Fuck,” he curses behind me, but I don’t look back.

I walk out of the restaurant and into the night, heels cracking against the cobblestone with every step, pulse pounding in my ears. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I’m not staying here, not with him.

I’m halfway down a side street, scanning for a cab, when I hear footsteps. I glance back, thinking it’s Reign,and find four drunk men walking toward me instead. They’re catcalling at me loudly, words slurring, and some even manage a whistle.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” One of the guy’s sneers. “You dressed like that for us?”

I pivot, hoping to lose them, and realize I’ve walked into a narrow alley with a brick wall in front of me. When I turn to run out, I find them already standing at the entrance, out of breath, as if they ran to trap me in here. I fumble for the Farbgel Spray in my bag as I back up, trying to keep some distance between me and them.

Two of the guys run at me and when they’re close enough, I yank the bottle out of my bag and spray them both in the eyes, revelling when they scream as the dye stains their skin, hands flying up to their eyes as they desperately rub their lids.

The third guy smacks the bottle from my hand and on instinct I kick him hard between the legs with my pointed high heel, not surprised when he lets out a high-pitched squeal, like a pig, before dropping to the ground next to his two friends.

But just as my foot comes back down to the ground, the last guy grabs me by my upper arm and slams me into the brick wall, knocking the air out of my lungs, before he presses a cold blade to my neck.

“Come on,” he slurs, breath sour. “We just want a good time with you, sweetheart.”

I open my mouth to scream but he applies pressure to the blade, and I feel it cut through my skin, warm blood trickling down my neck. My hands shake, frozen at my sides.

“Let me get a good look at that pretty face,” he says, using his dirty hand to push back my curls out of the way.

I spit at him, and he pulls back the hand holding the knife to slap me so hard that the sound echoes through the alley. I’m stunned for a moment, ears ringing and feeling the sting of pain pulse along my cheek.

“I’d rather die,” I say, looking at his ugly face. “Than let another man take advantage of my body.”

He sneers, looking into my eyes as his knife presses harder against my throat this time. The burn of his blade familiar, but still terrifying.

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