They fucked with me, ruined something so precious and perfect, tearing Jules from my life. And now they’re just backing away? They wanted to destroy me. Mission fucking accomplished.

I don’t know who to trust anymore or what to live for. My only hope is to pretend it’s all right. To move through life like nothing’s wrong, and pray that Jules can one day do the same. The rough edges of the letter rub harshly against my skin as I close my eyes and tighten my fist around it. It’s never going to happen.

She’s never going to forgive me.

She loves me deep down. She has to. I can’t feel this strongly about her without her feeling something for me.

Tossing the letter into the small trash can beneath my desk, I rise from my seat and wonder about my father, about Liam’s wife and how she plays into this. But this game is so much different than any other I’ve played before.

Too many pieces and moving parts, but I can’t see a damn one of them.

It feels a lot like giving up. A lot like losing. But sometimes you need to keep going through the motions, stay on your guard, and just let them think you’ve lost.

I flick off the light switch as I open the office door and stand there in the hall, contemplating where Jules is most likely to be in the house. My hand tightens on the doorknob, as I wonder if she’ll talk to me like we used to. If she’ll let me hold her. If those moments when she forgets and looks at me with those gorgeous blue eyes will last longer than seconds tonight.

I’ll leave it be, if only to let them think I’ve lost and given up. I nod my head as I leave; that’s what I tell myself.

As I shut the door behind me, it feels like I truly have lost everything already.

Jules

It’s nearly picture perfect.

To anyone looking in, we’re a couple sitting on the sofa in front of a roaring fire.

There’s plenty of lighting for the scene in Mason’s living room. The light’s brighter and has been all winter with the curtains open and the snow covering the grounds. The white reflects the sunshine into the room, no matter how dim it is. I watch the flames lick along the log. This fireplace is different from the one in the dining room. It’s odd they don’t match. I would’ve changed that if it were up to me. But it wasn’t. Because this isn’t where I belong.

I’m trapped here. I’ve made up my mind and I’m done.

I swallow thickly, moving more of the blanket over my chest as Mason shifts on the other end of the sofa. I came down here to write and to get this tale out of my head. To put an ending on it and hoping I could get a different perspective, but these words that stare back at me make me want to scream. Scratching out the lines over and over, I attempt to change them and deny it, but it is what it is. There’s no changing this ending.

My foot brushes against the pad of paper on the ottoman as I turn to face Mason.

He’s working, too, but completely unaffected. If I had to pinpoint what’s caused the finality and resentment, it’s the way he continues; I hate how easily he can move forward.

I’ve heard of that psychological condition where the woman falls for her captor. Stockholm syndrome. That’s not what this is. I loved this man with my whole heart before. I can feel myself falling, slipping back into that place and I refuse to go there.

He brought me into this hell, and I want out. I need to get out.

I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. But I know I need to be alone. That’s what it comes down to. I’m destroyed, and I need to be okay alone.

I’ll never stop loving him, but I need to stop hating myself and I can’t do that if I’m with him. “This isn’t a life,” I blurt out and then look up at Mason. “I want to leave, Mason.”

He doesn’t look at me at first, but he stops typing. The quiet clacking of the keys turns to nothing, leaving the room silent but for the crackling of the fire.

When he turns to look at me, I can see the fight in him is almost gone. He’s almost given up as well. It shouldn’t crush me the way it does. It shouldn’t cause this pain. This hole in my chest, but it does.

Taking a moment to swallow, the cords in his neck tighten before he answers, “You told me that you’d give me a month.”

A sadistic laugh leaves me—one that’s terrifying and rude, one that I should feel apologetic for letting slip out, but I can’t keep up with all the lies like he does. “You and I both know it’s never going to happen.” The words come out like a knife—knives, really. They cut us both, each in different ways.

“You can’t leave,” he tells me simply and I can’t help but feel enraged.

“I’m not staying,” I state with finality and narrow my eyes at him, and I feel a side of me that wants to fight. Not like the other night. I want to fight for my life. For my freedom and for a happiness I don’t ever see myself having with Mason. Not ever again.

“There’s someone—”

“I don’t care,” I spit at him. “I can take care of myself.”

His voice holds a note of admonishment as he says, “Don’t be stupid, Jules.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss, gripping the sofa as I lean closer to him. “I was fine before I met you.” I’m on edge, and violence brews inside of me. “How dare you!” I yell at him. I hold on to the anger. It’s the only sane part of me anymore. “How dare you start this when you knew from the very beginning—” My voice gets so tight I can’t finish.

Mason stares at me, judging how to handle me. It’s what he does, but this is too much for either of us. High and mighty with his tone, he pushes back, “You were lonely, and don’t pretend—”

“Because of you!” I scream the interruption, my voice and throat raw and full of pain. “You did this to me!” I yell. “I’m not okay, and it’s because I’m fucking you!” All of my pent-up rage, all the boiling anger spills over and I kick out, throwing the blanket off and getting away from him. There’s not enough distance between us, only feet from where he sits and where I stand. I can’t leave though, not until he lets me go. Our stares are locked, brutalized with both sadness and anger.

It’s quiet for a moment, with only the sounds of my heavy breathing and the fire.

“You need me to fix it,” Mason says with confidence.

“You can’t fix this,” I say dully and my heart hurts as I answer him. I wish he could. I so desperately wish he could fix this. Because I want him. I want to love him, and have him forever. But that isn’t our ending. I swallow and say, “You can’t fix this.”

“You need me—”

“I don’t need anyone.” I cut him off, letting out a deep breath and slowly lifting my head to look him in the eyes. The silver specks pierce through me as I say, “Mason, I’m done with all this. I’m done.” The last two words of my confession are only whispers.

His expression softens as he leans back and I take the seat on the far end of the sofa, wanting the tension to leave us both. “Do you hate me?” he asks, his eyes turning glossy but I know he won’t cry. That’s not the man Mason is. I already know he loves me. I know he wants me. I know I want him too, but that’s not in our cards. He decided that long ago, before he even met me.