Page 98 of Endgame
“No.” Determined, I whisper into the empty room. “I’m done being alone. Done.”
He married me. He fucked me. It’s his fault I’ve grown attached.
He’s the one to blame for how messed up my head is right now.
Like it or not, I’m his problem as much as he is mine.
And that is that. I’m going to find him.
“Everett?” My voice bounces off the high ceilings as I tread the halls.
He gives me nothing. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing.
This silence fuels my anger, quickening my steps. My need to tell Everett he can’t just play these mind games and force me to feel things is strong.
I’m a human being. I’ve been tortured enough. Have been cast aside for twenty-two years.
I won’t be ignored anymore, much less by a man who went through all the trouble of making me his wife.
He can be a mean, sexy monster. But I can’t stand this—this feeling like I’m nowhere near being anyone’s first or even second choice.
The sad thing is, I’m not even thinking about running away, not really.
Technically, I could try to make a break for it tomorrow, during mycommitment.
It isn’t what I want anymore. I want this, my fucked-up, twisted marriage, to work.
So I keep searching for him. Every room down the expansive hall is a possibility. I stick my head into an empty den. An empty TV room. Another room that’s literally empty. There’s nothing there.
No Everett either.
Maybe he’d respond to being taunted. That always seems to get his attention.
“Oh, husband?”
An obnoxious silence answers my obnoxious call.
The monster is either working, avoiding me, or both.
My teeth graze the wound on my lip.
“What’s this?” I stumble upon a locked door. The handle won’t budge.
My brow furrows. My curiosity piques. It’s enough to assuage this loneliness inside me. For now.
I let my hands run over the carved dark wood, over the door that I assume protects Everett’s secrets. That’s whatlockedusually means. That someone’s hiding something.
What’s he got there?
No, of course I’m not curious about him. I’m definitely not trying to humanize him. There’s no excusing what he’s done to me. I think.
Enough thinking. Enough rationalizing.
I want to go into that room, and I will.
To get inside, I’ll need paperclips or bobby pins. I’ve never broken into anywhere before, but with nothing but time, I head back to the den.
The desk drawers aren’t locked, and one of them holds office supplies.
