Page 77 of Wicked Little Game
But also Ruby.
I feel like I dragged her into all of this, which isn’t even true, because she worked with him, even though she knew it was the wrong thing to do. But it’s not like she had that big of a say in that matter.
Like a bird in a golden cage with no way out and now I flicked a burning match right in there to punish her for trying to find her place in a life she didn’t choose for herself.
29
RUBY
And here I thought that Sam had been weird because I’m shit in bed, or because he regretted sleeping with me. That would have been an issue we could have worked through more easily than the mess he just presented to me.
In the past few days, I went through all stages of a heartbreak at once. At first, I tried telling myself that he’s just another man that walked in and out of my life without leaving footprints, but at some point, I stopped believing my bullshit.
This wasn’t—isn’t just a little crush. No, I’m head over heels for this idiot and I don’t want any other man in my life ever again if it means I can have him.
Yes, even if he kills my father, and this is something I should probably talk through with a professional. I’m going to add it to the list.
Maybe this is some weird karmic shit and my father was right when he said that I don’t deserve love. For all my life, the people I’ve grown attached to left me, eventually.
Apart from Richard, but maybe Richard just doesn’t leave me because he’s too old and too polite.
I even tried stalking Sam online, but he’s like a ghost. Nosocial media profiles, not a trace of his name anywhere. No school pictures, no nothing.
Yesterday, I was so sad that I thought about driving to the mall to talk to Richard, but I didn’t do it, and the embarrassing reason behind that was that I feared Sam would be gone when I come back.
And now I want him gone, but I also don’t.
There’s so much that I want to say and do. Starting with punching him until my knuckles hurt, followed by yelling at him until I lose my voice and then I want to kiss him until I lose my breath.
But I don’t do any of that.
Instead, I let the tears flow freely as I close the door behind me. My short-lived attempt at calming down and collecting my thoughts sinks like the Titanic as I let myself fall onto my bed.
I sob into my pillow, not even entirely sure why I am crying. Everything is too much. The revelation that I was right, that something was off about him. That there will be consequences, probably not only for my father but also for me. The nagging thought that everything Sam did was calculated, only to gain my trust. And the cherry on top is the fact that the man who is the reason behind my tears is the only one I want to console me right now.
He didn’t go after me and I’m still torn if I’m angry or happy about it. I feel so disconnected from everything, static buzzing in my whole body, and still, it hurts so fucking much. My head and my heart fight and I’m right in the middle, ripped apart between them.
He said he stayed for so long because of me, said that he likes me, but he lied before, so why wouldn’t he lie now? To save himself and to get me to help him.
He’ll drop you after he gets what he wants,the mean voice in my head tells me.You’re not worthy of love.
With a sob, I bury myself in my blanket. Guilt rises in me.Guilt for being so self-centered. I’m worried about myself, about my feelings, about my future. It probably makes me a horrible daughter, but I silence the almost nonexistent part of me that’s still a small girl, wanting to be loved by her dad so badly.
He’ll never be proud of me, would never love me, no matter what sacrifices I’d make for him. Use and discard, a pattern I start to recognize. Maybe it makes me a horrible daughter, an ungrateful piece of shit, but I prefer him facing the consequences of his actions before I—or even more people—have to suffer under his greed any longer.
I either cried myself unconscious or fell asleep because when I wake up, it’s pitch black outside. My head hurts like hell, and my entire brain feels dried up, throbbing behind my forehead as I sneak down to the kitchen.
As I come back up the stairs, I see light coming from under Samuel's door and, for a moment, I contemplate knocking. Just to talk to him, to sort this out like adults, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
My heart feels like it was ripped out of my chest, crushed underneath heavy boots, and I’d still collect the remaining pieces and hand them over to Sam.
The next day goes by in a haze. I alternate between crying and sleeping, only interrupted by rushing down to the kitchen after checking the cameras to make sure Sam isn’t there.
The first time I go down there, I take all of his sweets with me. I don’t even like them, but he doesn’t deserve them right now. He can eat dry bread and burnt omelets for all I care.
Late at night, there’s a soft knock on my door.
“We need to talk about this, darling.”
