Page 41 of Dark Knight

From the first day we met, I knew we’d be best friends, and I’ve never regretted that decision. It felt like we had known each other our whole lives. And when I think about it, Bianca was raised in a different world than mine, too—the daughter of a cop versus the daughter of a notorious arms dealer with a billion-dollar empire. Talk about your unlikely duos.

There was a moment, before Austin came in and ruined it, when I felt happier. More relaxed, and more present in the moment than I had in ages. Between that and the motorcycle ride, I was flying high.

But of course, just like back at the club and so many other times, a man came in and thought he had the right to demand something of me. The memory makes me grab a pillow off the bed and punch it the way I should’ve punched Austin. It was one thing to be flirty, overly touchy, but to lean in for a kiss? I did nothing to encourage that kind of thing. You let a guy hug you; he thinks he has the right to stick his tongue down your throat.

Still, nothing he did was bad enough for Romero to drag me out of there like a fucking caveman claiming his possession. I’m curious if he’ll even bother apologizing to those guys for causing a scene in the middle of their party. I doubt it. Romero doesn’t apologize. That might mean taking responsibility for the asshole things he does.

I’m already so workedup that a sudden buzz from my phone makes me jump a mile. Instantly, my blood curdles, my stomach clenches, and my heart takes off at lightning speed. It takes a second to calm down once I remember I have Jeff’s number blocked. The arrival of a text doesn’t mean facing another nasty, threatening message.

He has yetto go so far as to reach out from a different number. Maybe he’s too stupid to figure that out.

Bianca:How’s it going? Are you doing okay?

Romero is an asshole.No, I can’t type that. It’s not like she doesn’t already know what I think of him, but I can’t give her anything to worry about. That would make Dad worry, making him call Romero, and a whole bunch of bullshit would come out of that. I am not in the mood.

Me:Same old. Trying to pass the time.

Bianca:Did you read those books I gave you? I know that’s not an exciting night, but I’m dying to talk about them with somebody.

The books areon the dresser, three thick hardcovers with bright, colorful, lush cover art. It’s a historical romance series she first became obsessed with back at school, and the latest book came out over the summer. I eye them, unimpressed, but what the hell? I’m not doing anything else.

Me:I’m going to crack the first one open now.

Bianca:Awesome!!! You’ll love them!

At least she’s happy.One of us should be. And who knows? I might be able to sink into the story rather than obsess over what’s happening in the real world.

After changing into a nightshirt,I grab the first in the series from the pile and settle in with pillows at my back. A cup of tea would be nice, but I don’t want to take the chance. It’s dumb, and I know it, but the idea of coming face-to-face with him is still too much to even consider. The longer I avoid him, the worse it will be—I know that’s true. When it comes to him, I guess I’m a coward. I don’t know how to handle the weirdness between us whenever we spend more than a split second together.

I barely havetime to open the book to the first page when my phone buzzes again. I love her, but I have to roll my eyes. “Seriously, you could let me read,” I whisper into the otherwise quiet bedroom before picking up my phone and checking Bianca’s latest text.

Bianca:Check your email. I just sent you something. I would have sent a physical copy, but I don’t know your address.

She is a nut job sometimes.Instead of losing myself in the story, I open the email app on my phone to find a link to download another book. In the message box, she typed, This is the first book in the spinoff series, so you can start it as soon as you finish the first three.

She has a lot of faith in how fast I can read, not to mention how much I will like these books. I guess she knows me pretty well and can assume. But I feel like I’m in school now. Will she expect a report once I’m finished? Like I’m doing anything else with my time.

Before I closethe app and try to get started again, another email catches my attention.

I lose my breath, staring at the subject. Re: Kristoff Knight

No.No, not this. Not again. I can’t take it. I need to pretend I never saw this. I need to take the phone to Romero and show him. He can handle it. I don’t need this, and I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. When will he stop? There’s got to be something wrong with me, like deep down wrong. Why else would I tap the message to open it? Why would I subject myself to this?

Tatum— you have wasted enough of my time. Attached, please find documents from my lawyer’s office instructing you to contact them with any information you have about my son and his disappearance. You have ten business days to comply before this matter is handed over to the authorities. For both our sakes, you had better make the right decision before this gets ugly.

The wayI throw the phone across the room, you’d think there’s a spider on it. Hot, bitter tears fill my eyes. Damn him. When will this be over? Why can’t it just be over? Why won’t he leave me alone?

For one crazy second, I remember the knife block in the kitchen. Yes, that’s what I need. I need some way to ease the pain ripping me apart inside. The pressure in my chest and my head is like a pressure cooker, ready to explode. I need to ease that stress, or else it’s going to kill me. Maybe I should let it. Maybe I would be better off. God, what am I going to do? What am I supposed to do? I can’t even see his ugly, filthy name without bile rushing into my throat and every little bit of strength I managed to gather around myself dissolving like cotton candy in the rain.

My body heavesin one wracking sob after another. I need to take this to Romero, but I don’t want him to see me like this. Even now, I can’t stand the thought of him watching me fall apart. I won’t let him. If I do, he’ll never, ever leave me alone again.

Why is your instinct always to be sneaky? I can hear him in my head now, asking me that question, and all I can do is yank the pillow from behind my head, clutch it in both hands then scream until my voice breaks and my throat burns and I can’t breathe. I scream until I’m too tired to scream anymore. Until the pillow is soaked with my tears, my voice a weak croak. Like a dying animal.

Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be again.

* * *

“Tatum!”

---