My throat dries and a rawness takes over, dampening every nerve ending along my skin. I don’t have many memories of my mother, but the ones I do, the ones that are clear, are the ones where she calls my father a liar. The images flash in front of me, and my body goes cold. “I’m not a liar. I did what I had to do.”

“I could never do what you did,” she says.

Everyone can kill. I keep the thought to myself, hating how true it is. It’s only a matter of what would push someone to do it.

“Do you have any other questions?”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asks as if it’s a real possibility. Her breathing is hesitant and then hitches when she closes her eyes tight.

Waiting for those doe eyes to look back at me, desperate for an answer, the one word I give her is filled with a promise. “Never.” It makes my heart hurt that she thinks it’s even an option. “I told you I’d never hurt you.” Of all the things today that have me on edge, that right there is the most distressing. The thought in her head that I’m someone who would hurt her is unacceptable.

My hand rests gently against her thigh and she’s quick to pull away, as if I’ve scorched her skin. I still at the sobering sight of her.

Her blue eyes have never looked so cold as she looks up at me and says, “No.” Her next words carry so much conviction, so much hate. “Don’t touch me… please.”

I clench my jaw and hesitate. This is too much. Too far, and too much. I’m quick to untie all the remaining binds, blood rushing in my ears and my fingers seemingly going numb. I drop the thin rope and it pools into a puddle around her, but she doesn’t move to get up. She doesn’t do anything but lean farther away from me.

Her mouth opens as I push off the bed and stand to leave, but she doesn’t say anything. There’s only silence.

“You may hate me now, Jules, but I still love you, and you’re not going anywhere until you know that and until you understand why it had to happen.”

The door closes behind me with a loud click and I don’t stop walking until I get to the office to retrieve the house keys. I’ll lock the door. I’ll keep her here until she understands.

There’s no fucking way I’m letting her leave. She’ll figure it out eventually; she’s always been mine. It was only a matter of me finding her.

Jules

Although my eyes are tired and my head and limbs ache, I don’t move. Not an inch. Not since I took the engagement ring off my finger and flung it across the room.

I’m far too aware of every event that led to this. It’s as if I’ve lived my life under the warm silk sheets of the most welcoming bed, only to be kicked out, landing face-first on the cold, cracked concrete floor.

More than anything, one word keeps coming to mind. Unprepared. I have no idea what to do, or even what to think. It’s all a mess. My life is a jumbled mess of chaos and tragedy. It’s hard enough to grasp the fact that Jace was murdered. Much harder still to think that I fell in love with his murderer.

I need to get away. Far away from Mason just so I can think straight.

I can’t focus on anything else other than that one truth: I need to get the hell out of this room.

The bedroom door’s locked from the outside; the telltale jingle of keys and then the loud click of the lock a few moments ago alerted me to that. I already know it’s the case without even trying to turn the knob. I suppose that’s better than having to face him. To my left, the curtain sways and draws my eyes.

My throat closes at the thought of seeing him again. I loved him. My heart feels like a vise is clamped around it, squeezing tighter each time I think about who Mason really is and what I’ve done. I fell in love with my husband’s killer.

The shock is still there, but it’s not enough to keep the sickness of my reality at bay.

My head feels dizzy—from exhaustion maybe, I’m not sure, but I don’t have time to think. I don’t have time for anything until I’m far away from here.

I stare at the lone window in this room. I know it’s an idiotic notion to think I can climb down from the second story and land safely below, but I have no other choice and I refuse not to try.

If there’s one thing the recollection of the events leading up to this have screamed at me, it’s that I need to take action and stop allowing life to railroad me.

I don’t have my keys, my phone or wallet. With the groan of the bed seemingly chiding me as I stand up and make my way to the window, I peek outside to see there’s already a thin layer of snow on the ground. Given its late November in New York, I’m not shocked but it’s still frustrating. If I make it down there alive without breaking my neck, he’ll be able to see where I’ve gone. A part of me huffs at the thought, knowing this is foolish, trying to escape.

But I only need to flag someone down on the road or bang on a neighbor’s door. I have to try, and I’m not waiting another second.

The floor in the bedroom is creaky and every little sound forces me to check that the door is still closed. I know he’ll be able to hear me from downstairs if he’s listening. I’m careful with each step and do my best to limit the noise as I move around. I inhale deeply through clenched teeth as I open the dresser as quietly as I can but it’s loud just the same as I slowly pull on the drawer. I’ve never noticed it before, but right now every single noise is far too loud.

My heart rampages in protest at each squeak and groan from the wooden floors. I’m only getting dressed, I tell myself over and over. If he comes up now, if he hears me and storms into the room to check on me, I’m only getting dressed. Surely that’s what he must think.

My eyes burn with unshed tears thinking about Mason coming up here. Realizing the fear I now have for a man I once loved makes my chest feel unbearably tight.

What if he catches me?

What will he do when he’s realized I’ve left?

Even worse: What would he do to me?

I swallow down the insecurity and fear; I can’t be paralyzed by them. I can’t wait here in this damn room for him to decide what to do with me. I’m stronger than that.

The first shirt and pair of leggings I pull out are good enough and then from the drawer below, I grab a pair of jeans to pull over top of the leggings. It’s freezing outside. I don’t have a coat because they’re all downstairs in the hall closet, but I layer a sweater and then another one over my long-sleeved shirt. It’s hard to tell if the burning heat is from the fabrics or from the anxiety that rages through me.

My fingers shake as I pull down the long cashmere sleeves. If he came up now, he’d know for sure that this is more than me just getting dressed. I’m dressed to leave. The thoughts don’t slow me, they only push me to be faster; I’m fueled by nerves and the desperation to save myself.

I can barely breathe as I kneel and tie the shoelaces on a pair of sneakers I grabbed from the walk-in closet. My hands don’t stop trembling and my vision keeps going in and out as the dull pain behind my eyes gets worse. I sway as my light-headedness becomes too much, and I have to close my eyes and breathe. Just breathe.

I stand on wobbly legs and walk as quietly as I can to the window, which is just as unhelpful as it was a moment ago. Staring over my shoulder at the closed door, I lick my dry, cracked lips as I unlock the window. The lock on the left turns easily but the one on the right is tight, and I need both hands and all my focus to loosen it. Each second that passes seems too long, as if this small moment is enough time for him to stop me.