on silent. I’m sorry.” My voice sounds hollow, like a bad actress speaking too loudly on stage. “And yesterday, I was really busy. We got tied up at the shop—”
“Too busy for me?” he counters. “The one person who gives a shit about you? For fuck’s sake, Hannah. All I ask is that you keep in contact with me. Is that so fucking hard?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Sorry? After everything I’ve fucking done for you? You know, you’ve been acting differently ever since that bullshit story made the paper. You think that means something? You’re so damn selfish. Wasting all this money on a worthless fucking degree, and for what? To get fucking attention by leaving home? Unless that’s not really why you came here. Take a picture,” he demands. “Now.”
“B-Bran…” The hurt pinching in my chest gives way to genuine alarm. My hair is a mess. Despite changing, I think there’s blood on my clothing. Too many flaws to disguise even in a simple snapshot—not to mention Rafe, looming as if daring me to make him move. “I just got out of the shower, Bran.”
He scoffs at the excuse. “Do it. Show me you’re safe. That you’re not fucking lying to me…” He pauses deliberately, and I have a horrible sense as to why he’s really so angry. “I had Liam come by your apartment last night—you weren’t there.”
I feel my thumb flinch for the red button at the bottom of the screen. Hanging up will only piss him off. Enrage him. But his prying is too much to take on top of my bloody sewing session last night and everything else crowding my skull for attention. My skill for enduring is nonexistent. For once, I can’t play along.
“I have to go.”
“Wait—”
“I love you. Bye.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Rafe watching me, his expression unreadable as I stow the phone in the pocket of my sweatpants. Did he hear any of that conversation? I can’t even look at him.
“You should leave,” I tell him softly.
“Sure thing, bunny.” Pulling away from the wall, he manages to keep his balance long enough to undo my series of locks and open the door. Right before he steps into the hall, his fingers reach out, grazing the jagged hole right beside the doorjamb—my breathing stills. Though, if he suspects anything at all from the sight, he doesn’t reveal as much out loud.
“Let me know when you want that favor,” he says, letting his hand fall. “Oh…and I hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind the mess.” Without ever looking back, he crosses over the threshold and slams the door in his wake.
Chapter Eleven
I’d been so naïve when I first moved into this place. To innocent Hannah from over a month ago, freedom could be found simply by scrubbing away the grime in her small, one-bedroom apartment to make it her own. Hope then had smelled like the dust and chemical cleaner that punctuated those first steps in reclaiming my life. Breaking away from Branden, I finally moved out, even if it were only a few minutes’ drive away.
That fragile pride had lasted all of the ten seconds it took for him to visit with his “housewarming” present. It sits on my TV now, an electronic eye staring blankly as I tackle the mess scattered across my apartment.
The spilled eggs.
The stray thread.
The blood.
I rearrange my throw pillows to cover the stains on the chair I can’t get out and sweep the wooden floors to no avail. It still looks barren. What had Rafe called it? A jail cell.
Desperate to ignore the phantom of him, I throw on a sundress and head outside, wandering aimlessly. I don’t go to the bookstore just yet. Instead, I take a longer route, cutting through a part of downtown that extends my walk by nearly twenty minutes.
Halfway, I find myself pausing near a pop-up market of all places. I don’t know why. Its offerings consist of fresh produce supplied by farmers from outside of the city. I grab some veggies with the idea of making them for dinner, but right before I leave, I snatch something else, leaving the money on the counter.
The bouquet of fresh yellow tulips smell, tickling my nose during the entire walk to the Paper Crane. I find a plastic cup and fill it with water, setting them aside, along with my veggies, while I get to work.
Today, I discover Mr. Zhang in the back room, poring over inventory. He spots me and nods in a silent