future. I’m surrounded by punishment. The shadows creep closer with each heartbeat.
I let Abi down.
I didn’t protect her.
I should’ve done more. For her. For all of them.
“Leave.” I turn to the window, my sight focused on Luca’s cream fence when my mind sees nothing but Abi. Her face blinks back at me. Her determination. Her strength.
It’s all been extinguished.
Snuffed.
“When I lost my family. I couldn’t pull myself together because too many emotions were attacking me at once.” Sarah walks to the side wall and picks up the battered shell of the lamp. “The weight of it was brutal. And I was convinced nobody else would ever understand. How could they? How could anyone possibly know what it’s like to have every loved one taken away? What I should’ve realized, though, was that I didn’t need understanding. I only needed someone to listen.”
“That’s not what I need.” I reach for the curtain, digging my nails into the thick material, tempted to pull the heavy weight from the looming rod.
I don’t know what will help me right now, but it’s not chitchat.
“I think you’re wrong,” she states, matter of fact. “I think you’re scared of asking for help… scared of opening up to someone. I was like that, too. I didn’t truly find my feet until I let Hunter in. He found me through the darkness.”
I glare at her, disgusted. She may have been found, but that discovery led her to a life of crime. To a murderous fiancé.
“And I know you said your friend wouldn’t kill herself,” she continues. “But everyone handles trauma differently. We never truly know—”
“Stop.” Her placations stoke the building flames inside me, the suffering increasing through my anger.
“Penny, you should—”
“Stop,” I snap. “Your situation holds no comparison to mine. You don’t know what I want. What I need. And you certainly have no fucking understanding of how well I knew Abi. She wasn’t a friend. She was my sister. A real sister. Not like the crime-riddled family you joined to replace your own.”
Her eyes flare. This formidable woman, with her steely determination and threatening demeanor, is taken aback by my words.
“Ouch. That was below the belt.” She rubs her sternum as if I punched her. “But I’ll allow it. I’m all for lashing out when I’m in pain, too.”
I wince, hating myself. Hating her. Hating the whole damn world.
I don’t want to lash out. I don’t want to fight.
The reaction is beyond my control, the response engrained while living under the roof of a monster. Luther made me this way. Made me learn to attack at the first sign of fear. And I loathe myself for allowing the transformation.
I wasn’t aggressive before him. I was gentle and kind once.
Now I’ll forever be his slave.
“Oh, God.” I suck in a breath, the shackles of my life sentence tightening. “I’m sorry.” I swing around to the window. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t walk into a room where furniture was being thrown anticipating fluffy conversation and squishy boob hugs. You’re entitled to your emotions. If you’re angry, let it out. Same goes with the sadness. You can’t bottle it up.”
She’s wrong. I can keep it bottled. Luther made it impossible not to learn the skill when he despised vulnerability. And besides, crying would be the end of me. I’d start and never stop.
“I’m a good listener,” she adds. “Luca is, too.”
I return my attention to the fence, staring mindlessly as I force myself to be calm. “Luca doesn’t need to be burdened any more than he already is. I’ve destroyed enough of his life. And now his home.”
“Pfft. The guy didn’t have a life to begin with.” The mattress squeaks as she makes herself comfortable. “Listen to me. At the moment, you’re being pummeled. There’s grief, confusion, and fear. There’s loneliness, guilt, and longing. And that was before you even heard the news about Abi. Your only choice is to be overwhelmed. But you’re going to need to quieten the mass of voices to be able to move on.”
“You’re wrong. I barely feel any of those things.”
Hours ago, she would’ve been right. I was drowning in all those emotions. Not now though. What’s happening in this moment isn’t right.
It’s different.
I’m different.
“Then what do you feel?”
I can’t admit the truth. It’s heartless, learning about the loss of a loved one only to feel anger in response. It’s not natural. Not normal.
Luther’s influence is seeping into me. It seems the more time I spend away from the nightmare of