Page 54 of Dare To Free Us

It was sad and felt lonely. There was nothing warming or reassuring about it. If anything it gave you anxiety trying to imagine what she went though to look so dejected. Even the dim lighting, making her face shadowed a bit more on one side, suggested this woman existed in a world of very little light.

The scariest realization was, the woman in the painting was me. I didn’t start out wanting to paint myself but somehow that was the end result. Me, and the accumulation of what I was feeling inside. The slight difference in features failed to hide much of the resemblance.

I’d never painted anything so dark. I looked at myself on the canvas and wanted to pretend it was all a lie, but I knew better. Obviously, I was so caught up in my confusion and sorrow that even my painting had been affected by it.

Painting was supposed to be my peace, my escape. But there was no escaping what was going on in my head, or my heart.

I looked at my phone for the hundredth time and imagined myself calling Becka. I needed her so bad. She was always brutally honest and wouldn’t try to pander to me with false encouragement. I wanted to ask if I was being crazy, overreactive, or just plain stupid. But I knew I wasn’t and knew she would say the same. It’s the fact that steadied my hand every time.

For the first time in my life I envied Becka.

She had a childhood that made you want to cry, suffered terrible losses, and had been kidnapped into a world she would have never stepped foot in. So, it was always more of me hoping one day she would find happiness. Even though she found an amazing love with Luca and everything worked out, there was no reason to envy her. Until now.

I had my prince— though he may be dark— a life where I never wanted for anything and family surrounding me. But after escaping this life I realized Becka gained something I would never possess; freedom for her children.

So, the phone remained face down on the table as I fell deeper into self denial. Or was it awareness?

I wasn’t ready to face myself. To admit to things that would tear me apart like angry wolves. To acknowledge that I was on the razor’s edge of a choice I never thought I would have to or want to make. No matter which way I chose to go, I would destroy another life.

Footfalls echoed on the marble floor behind me, announcing Matteo’s entry. I could recognize his stride in my sleep. That perfect rhythm of commanding authority that made you wish for the power to rule a room with nothing more than a walk like he did.

I didn’t turn to greet him and he didn’t call out to me.

After a few moments a stool clattered on the floor beside mine and Matteo’s large body settled on it. I could see him studying the picture out of the corner of my eye.

I wondered what he thought of it. If he saw it the way I did.

His huff of exasperation let me know Matteo connected the dots. Then I could feel those brown eyes on me. Matteo turned his body so his knees caged me in. I wasn’t sure if it was a matter of him getting comfortable or if he was trying to make it hard for me to escape him.

“Arianna.” He breathed my name with so much emotion I almost broke apart. “Look at me, Beautiful.”

I closed my eyes against the burn. I couldn’t look at him. Shame was riding me so hard my shoulders felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds. If he knew what I was thinking he would hate me, and I wouldn’t blame him one bit, because I hated me too.

His eyes burned into the side of my head. I knew he wasn’t going to move or continue until I looked at him. Slowly I turned my head and peeled my eyes open.

I looked upon the handsome face of the only lover I’d known. The only one I fantasized about or wanted embracing me with his masculine body flush to mine. Matteo was my world. He owned my heart before I understood what it meant to give it away. I loved him down to my marrow. He had been all I ever wanted. But looking at him in that moment,hurt.

The concern and frustration in his gaze battled for dominance. I knew I hadn’t been myself and it was affecting him that I hadn’t come to him yet like Ialwaysdid, but at the same time he couldn’t stand seeing me like this.

“What is wrong?” he asked, trying hard to keep the command out of his voice.

My mouth opened and clamped shut, tears rushed out and streamed down my face. My heart was pounding and twisting inside my chest. Shaking my head I looked to the floor, unable to stomach his concern.

Matteo’s hands gripped my arms hard, giving me a little shake. I gasped and looked into angry eyes brimming with desperation. “For fuck’s sake, Arianna. Tell me what the hell is wrong!”

“I can’t!” I cried, pulling my arms in tight to my chest.

“Why not? Why can’t you tell me? I can’t read your mind woman, so explain it to me. Explain this painting. What the fuck is going on in your head?”

“I…” It almost spilled out until my throat closed up.

Matteo just stared at me, still keeping ahold of my arms. I shook my head violently, as if I could shake myself awake and realize this conversation wasn’t happening.

“Arianna,” Matteo ground out, giving me another little shake.

“I don’t know if I can do this!” I cried, feeling like my insides were dipped in acid.

“Do what?”

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