Echo(10)

Truth is, I don’t know what kind of mom I would’ve been, but I was willing to take the role with Declan by my side. I trusted him to keep me together. Trusted that his love would be enough to make me better. But I’m not better, and without him, I’m nothing.

Empty.

“It’s life, right?” I say with a defeated shrug of my shoulders.

“Not the life I wanted for you,” he says, stepping closer to me. “All I ever wanted was to give you a better life. All I wanted was to rip that lock off that door when you were little and cut you free from that f*cking closet. I wanted to take away all the times I was forced to rape you. I wanted to take away all your beatings, all your hurt. But I f*cked up.”

With no need for my steel cage with him, I let my tears fall, and I cry because that’s all I ever wanted . . . for my life to disappear. I want to forget all the horror.

“I never meant to destroy you like this.”

“I know.”

“I panicked. I got scared, and I lost it,” he tries to explain through his strained voice that threatens to break.

“I miss you, so much, Pike. I don’t even know how to live any more. I have no one. Not one person on this Earth,” I cry and then crumple to my knees. But he’s right there with me on the floor, hand on my back, as I heave and sob, “What do I do?”

“You live.”

“How?”

“You breathe. You fight. You take everything that was meant to be yours in this life because you deserve all of it.”

“I’m just so tired of fighting for nothing,” I tell him.

Taking my face in his hands, he wipes my tears, saying, “You’re not alone. I’m here. Do you feel me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not for nothing. Never stop fighting.”

I close my eyes and relax my cheek into his hand, taking in his touch and truly feeling him. With a deep breath, I inhale his words and search for comfort in them, search for any shred of strength. Strength to breathe, to move, to open my eyes, and when I do, he’s gone.

Looking around the room, there’s no trace of Pike, no movement, no smell, no sound. Sitting back on my heels, I observe the penthouse, the illusory world I’ve created, and I hear his faint whisper, “This was your creation, and you were strong enough to master it.”

And he’s right.

I was strong.

But that’s when I had something to fight for. That fire in me is gone. Only ash and embers remain. Echoes and shadows. Darkness and death.

Pike is right though; I need to move. If I’m going to live, I need to remind myself that there is good in this life. Even if the good comes in miniscule drips, I have to believe the pain is worth those moments, because I’ve experienced it. It was real and alive and I would go through this agony all over again just to feel the love of Declan for one more second. I never thought the world could be that good, but it was.

For that moment . . .

It was so good.

Picking myself up off the floor, I steady on my feet before grabbing my coat and keys. As much as I’ve been avoiding the reality of Declan’s absence, I need to face it. To remember that it was real and it’s worth this pain.

I pull my car out onto Michigan Avenue and start heading north. The city is alive and moving all around me. I ignore the excitement and smiles and keep straight to River North. Turning onto Superior, I slow down. Suddenly, I feel cold and my clammy hands grip the steering wheel more tightly. There’s a sick churning in the pit of my gut as I roll the car along the curb in front of Declan’s building.

Shutting the car off, I sit for a moment in the stillness. The only sound is the pounding of my heart as it beats through my chest. This used to be my solace. My little piece of heaven located at the top of this building. When I get out of the car, I look up and see the greenery on his rooftop courtyard, but I know that’s the only life up there. His name is no longer on the intercom system in the lobby, only the number for the realtor that is listed to sell his penthouse.

The coolness of the steel on my fingertip hollows me even more, and the masochist in me begs to push the button.

So I do.

I buzz his floor, knowing that this time, his sweet voice won’t be greeting me. Instead, it’s my phone.

Pulling my cell out, I look at the screen but don’t recognize the number. As I take a few steps back toward my car, I answer, “Hello?”

“Miss me?”