Tears threaten and I shove them back, hating all of this and praying to just wake up and find it’s merely a bad dream. Please! Please, I would give anything for this to only be a nightmare. My silent prayers are disrupted by the wood floors creaking as Mason heads toward the door, leaving me here and not giving me any indication of what’s to come.

“Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry?” I whisper the ragged question. Maybe that’s what’s most shocking; he hasn’t said he’s sorry. Not for tying me up and keeping me here… not for murdering my husband almost a year ago.

His tall frame pauses in the partially opened doorway, stopping in his tracks as he registers what I’ve said. He turns his head slowly to look back at me over his shoulder, his hand still on the carved glass doorknob.

“I already told you that I’m sorry. You were never supposed to know the truth.”

“You’re only sorry that I found out?” I ask with equal amounts of disbelief and hurt.

His eyes dart to the floor and the bedroom door groans as it opens slightly wider.

He glances up at me hesitantly, as if debating on telling me something. It would be the truth; I can see it, can feel the intensity. Instead he says nothing, walking out of the bedroom with even strides before slamming the door shut behind him.

Mason

The past is dark,

And filled with pain.

Mistakes were made,

And nothing gained.

If I had known,

I’d have found a way.

But what’s done is done,

The past never goes away.

Someone knows. The knowledge brings a chill that prickles down my shoulders to the base of my spine. Someone knows what I’ve done. It’s been nearly a year. So much time has passed and yet they’ve said and done nothing until now. All the possibilities of who it could possibly be are jumbled in the forefront of my mind. For hours I’ve been focused on this rather than what I’ve done to Jules. My poor Jules.

I didn’t think anyone knew until Jules received that letter.

It destroys me that I couldn’t lie to her. I couldn’t hide what I’d done. Some sick, twisted part of me is relieved that now she knows.

But then I see the way she looks at me. I deserve the hate… I knew it would come to this and still I want to fix it. I don’t have any other choice but to make this right. I can’t let her go.

I won’t.

They say if you love someone, you should let them go.

That’s bullshit.

I didn’t know it until I lost her, but I had nothing to live for without Jules. There’s no possibility in this life that I’m going back to what I was before her.

The idea that she could turn me in has barely even registered. It’s merely a passing thought that intrudes upon the images replaying in my head of seeing her walk away from me. The memories of her pushing against my chest, violently scratching and kicking me. Her screams that she hates me echo in my ears over and over.

She doesn’t mean it. She can’t hate me. Not for that.

I swallow thickly as I descend the stairs, gripping the railing and matching the pounding of my heart with the heavy thud of my bare feet.

I can make it right. I can and I will. My palm is clammy as I hold the railing tighter.

It’s a priority to figure out how to make her forget the past and remember her future is with me. I nod, envisioning how this was supposed to be. How it could have ended so beautifully.

I check to make sure the front door’s locked as I pass the foyer, still completely trashed from our earlier struggle and head for the dining room, ignoring the mess.

More importantly, I need to find out who the fuck knows what I did and if they have any evidence. That’s first. Jules needs time to cool off and while she does, I need to work out who sent that letter and why.

Jules is angry, and I get that. Saying it was a shock is obviously an understatement. I flick on the light and my eyes are instantly drawn to the bar. To a vice I desperately need to lean on while I process my lack of grace at what I did to her.

She was never meant to find out what happened. I was a different man then. If I’d known her at the time, I would have handled it differently. I would have ripped her away from that piece of shit and taken her for myself. In another life, perhaps it happened that way.

But that’s not our reality.

Picking up a glass from the rack on the edge of the bar, I remember the haunting look in her eyes; the glass clinks as the adrenaline in my blood begins to wane for the first time since seeing her face as she read the letter.

I don’t know how to fix this. Every other trouble Jules has had has been easy to remedy. This… I know it’s unforgivable, but what she wants isn’t an option for us. I can’t go back to what I once had and who I used to be.

I need her and she may not want to admit it right now, but she needs me. Deep down, she knows it’s true. This doesn’t change anything.

She just needs time and so do I. I’ll figure out a way to keep her and make her happy again. It’s not the first time I’ve destroyed her, I think as the bottom of the heavy glass hits the bar top.

I crack my neck to the side as I hear her cry out again, sharp profanity echoing down the stairway and hall. Her voice is raw and hoarse, and I know the regret plagues her.

A smirk lifts up my lips. She’s right, I must be sick. The thought that lingers is that she has to regret moving in with me. My house is on the edges of the city and in a secluded, remote location. If we were at her place, the neighbors would have heard everything, and the cops would have already been called. I’d be fucked.

I give a small grin as I twist off the cap to the whiskey and slowly pour it into the tumbler. No one can hear her but me while we’re in here.

I’m the only knight in shining armor she’s going to get.

I bring the glass to my lips and the smile vanishes, my eyes drifting to the lit fireplace. She turned it on earlier, claiming it brings a warmth to the darkness in the dining room.

Downing my whiskey and then raking my fingers through my hair, I let out a frustrated sigh over the sound of her screaming.

She’s going to be sore and angry, and the marks on her wrists will need time to fade, but she’ll survive. She’ll get over it.

Whoever wrote that note though, whoever tried to tear my sweetheart from me, that fucker won’t survive this. I grit my teeth as I slam the glass down and feel the burn of the liquor spread through my chest.

The thought prompts me to head to the entryway. The rug is crooked from when I dragged Jules up the stairs, and the lamp on the hall table is on its side, but at least it’s not broken. My keys and wallet are still on the floor from when she knocked them off the table in her frantic attempt to hold on to something, anything to keep her from being taken upstairs.

My eyes dart up to the wall behind the iron banister. A low hum of admonishment leaves me as I bend down to pick up the scattered items.

The dents and scrapes on the walls are going to be a bit more difficult to fix. Recalling the feel of her struggling against me stirs an unrecognizable emotion inside my gut. I close my eyes and picture how I held her tight against me, forcing her still and pushing her against the wall, trapping her. She never stopped fighting, though. I count every little mark. Her nails scratched against the drywall, desperate for something to save her. It’s evidence that’s not so easy to clean up.