“He’s not my guy,” I say like a child telling another she isn’t in love.
“Avoidance is the best medicine for certain things, but for others, it’s a poison that will kill everything in you.”
She stands and leaves the room followed by Mark, leaving me behind with Dickhead in chief. As he’s ignoring me, his face buried in his phone, I stand and make my way out. Once at the door, I turn around to thank him but he sends me a don’t you dare stare. I’m ready to walk away and hope to never see him again, when he finally speaks, a grin on his face.
“Andre really loves you as a daughter and he really did everything he could to protect you over the years. At least that’s what he told my father. Maybe now, you can open your eyes to your surroundings and remove your head from your ass. A dead father and a dead fiancé don’t seem so troublesome when you discover your mother is a psycho. Welcome to the club. It’s a living hell Miss Fitzpatrick, but there is nothing we can do.”
Mentally flipping him the bird, I leave the room and run toward the elevator, confused, heartbroken and wholly alone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
OLIVER
I hear the door and the heavy footsteps of my warden coming down the stairs. Each stride crushes my hopes to get out of here alive.
If all this had happened a few months ago, I would have let myself die.
I wouldn’t have tried to fight my way out of it. I wouldn’t have battled my demons pushing me toward the door of death. I wouldn’t have listened to Elaine telling me to fight, to let her go.
None of that would have happened before.
Before Aito.
Before Tessa.
I smile, thinking of her.
I’m not dead.
I might barely be alive, but I’m not dead, not yet.
Count on me to finally want to live when my life is in jeopardy.
For years, I was physically alive but lifeless inside, and the moment I found the strength to live again, to project a future, to be at peace with my past, I get myself killed—or almost killed.
That’s the thing with waiting on someone to decide on your fate.
You have time to overthink.
I’ve been in and out of consciousness floating between Elaine and Tessa, and slowly realizing that what Tessa and I have, this connection, this understanding, this yearning, is more than an itch, more than raw passion, more than love.
It’s gratitude.
I’m grateful for having her in my life, for what we share and our story.
It reminds me of a few words Sue used to tell Elaine, about what was greater than love.
Honor, trust, allowance, vulnerability, and gratitude.
I didn’t get it.
I never did.
I always thought that nothing was more significant than loving someone, to do whatever it takes for them to be happy. And if they loved you, they should do the same. Do everything to get a smile on their face.
But maybe this isn’t love? It’s a version of what has been instilled in us through romance movies and love stories. How could you ask the person you love to be something they aren’t? How can you ask them to stop overthinking or jump off a plane?
This can’t be what love is.
This can’t be what makes you go to war and lose your mind.
Truly honoring who your partner is, trusting them, not judging who they want to be, and letting go of all the barriers we like to put up to protect ourselves with, that’s when you can reach the level of love that will bless your life like a ray of sunshine on a cold winter’s day. And only then you’ll be grateful to have found the one who can make you smile while you freeze your balls off in the storm of life.
I thought I loved Elaine like she deserved, but now I know that I loved her in a Hollywood kind of way, with fake smiles and conditions.
I think Elaine understood what her mother was saying and applied it daily. She never asked me to change who I was and what I liked for her own sake. She accepted me with my moods, my passions, my craziness, my needs and cherished what we had.
I want to love Tessa like Elaine loved me.
I want to accept my blue-haired girl the way she is, even if it means working on myself a little more.
I should stop being so cautious with life. The situation I am in right now is proof that even without taking risks, tomorrow might never come.
But I’ve been drugged for the last few days, so I’m certainly just full of shit and am delirious.
I also received a good beating. Mrs. VanHorn’s nephew gave me water and some bread and talked with his fists a lot.
Maybe when she told him to kill me, she implied to let me rot? Death eaten by rats… I chuckle. Slightly better than being eaten by a bear.
“Spencer, be quiet!” He says in between his teeth, “we have only a few minutes to get you out of here.”
By now I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming. Why would the guy who made my face as swollen as a pufferfish try to save me? Or maybe he’s not saving me but only moving me so he can end me. I try to protest, but I can’t speak.
He comes behind me and unties my wrists. I don’t have enough strength to swipe at him. I try to, but nothing much happens.
“Don’t fucking try to hurt me. If I untie your feet, you can’t kick me in the face, or you’ll have us both killed. Understand?”
Still not sure what I’m doing, I nod.
I can barely walk, but his massive hands support me. Slowly, in silence, he drags me
