Addicted(6)

I’m close to breaking and I don’t want to do that here. Don’t want to do that now. Not when I’m so angry at Ethan. And not when Brandon is at the top of the driveway, watching me like the predator he is. I can feel his eyes on me, his malicious delight staining the air around me a dark and heavy gray. It’s hard to breathe through it, hard to think through it, but I’m determined.

“Just wait here,” Ethan says desperately, and I’ve never seen him like this. So shaky, so distressed, so obviously not in control. “You don’t have to go back up and face him. Just stay here and I’ll bring the car—”

His hand closes on my arm again and this time I reach out with my other hand and shove him as hard as I can.

It doesn’t budge him, doesn’t make him stumble back as I’d been hoping it would. But it does freeze him in his tracks, his eyes wide and tortured and blue. So f*cking blue that it takes every inch of spine that I have not to tumble straight into them.

He lets go instantly, his hand dropping from my arm liked I’d burned him. I don’t feel any remorse. How can I when he’s torn me open, my whole being one raw, seething wound that makes it impossible to breathe without bleeding.

“I won’t hurt you, Chloe,” he tells me, voice soft and hands raised in a soothing gesture.

He already has. But I’ve never been one to point out the obvious, so I just turn and start walking again. This time, he lets me go.

Relief sweeps through me as I make it to the end of the driveway. The ocean is stretched out in front of me, blue and wild and infinite. A storm is brewing and waves are tossing against the shore, slamming into early morning surfers and slapping them hard into the water. One by one they stand. One by one they get swamped, slammed, devoured by the ravenous pull of the ocean.

I pause for a moment, just a moment, and watch because I can’t not watch. I’m on land but I know exactly how the surfers feel out there. I’m drowning in pain, drowning in shame, being tugged under with no surface in sight.

The muted roar of an engine sounds behind me, and then Ethan’s voice—low, demanding, pleading. “Please, Chloe, get in. Just let me take you home and then I’ll leave.”

I glance behind me for just a moment. Ethan is in one of his many cars—the green Tesla, this time—but for once I feel no modicum of interest, no shred of envy. Yesterday, I would have died for a chance to mess around with the guts of this car but today I don’t so much as want to touch it, let alone ride in it.

Our eyes meet and my stomach lurches, threatens to rebel.

He looks as lost as I feel, and angry as I am, I hate knowing that he’s suffering. Hate knowing that I caused it, even after everything. I wouldn’t wish the pain I feel on anyone, let alone on Ethan, the only man I’ve ever loved.

That doesn’t mean I can stay, though. Doesn’t mean I can ever be with him again. Not with all the history crashing down on us like a tsunami.

I turn away, walk down the street toward the ocean. It’s stretched out in front of me, blue and infinite and beautiful. For a second, just a second, I think about continuing to walk—down the sidewalk, across the beach, into the water. Walking and walking and walking until I’m totally immersed, the dark water closing over my head, the undercurrent pulling me down.

It’s an inviting thought. Too inviting, considering how I spent the months and years directly after the rape. Drowning in fear, humiliation, self-loathing.

Not wanting to go back there—refusing to go back there—I concentrate on nothing more complicated than putting one foot in front of the other. The heat of the sidewalk helps, the edge of pain keeping me sane. Keeping me focused.

“Get in the car, Chloe.”

Ethan’s voice is right beside me—he’s pacing me in the Tesla—but I don’t so much as turn to look at him. I’m done. With him. With us. With this whole f*cked up situation.

“Damn it, Chloe! Please. Just let me take you home, make sure you’re safe. I promise, I won’t bother you after that.”

The crack inside me deepens at his words, breaks me wide open. I can barely stay upright under the onslaught.

But I do stay upright.

I do keep walking.

I don’t answer him.

There’s a part of me that can’t help but respond to the order—and the plea—in Ethan’s voice, but I ignore that part. Lock it down so deep inside of myself that I may never find it again.

Which is exactly how I want it. I might not know much right now, but I know this. There is no way I’m getting in that car with Ethan. No way I’m giving him another chance to, however inadvertently, rip me to pieces.