Page 80 of Die For Me

Hana

The weeks had gone by in a blur. Jack and I started to put our lives back together, regaining a sense of normalcy. Or at least, whatever normalcy we had before. We had talked to the police countless times, and I had chosen to testify against Michael when the time came. It broke my heart to learn that Jackie wasn’t his only other victim. He had done things far worse to other women who came forward. I had to recount my time with him multiple times. It was a nightmare I had to relive over and over. But I wanted to get it done—I didn’t want Michael to get off easily. The best case scenario had him in prison for forty years; the minimum was fifteen years. And the worst case scenario was that he wouldn’t get convicted. However, my attorneys and I were confident he would be. Jack also said he would easily kill him if he went free. I thought that was romantic.

I discovered that Michael was going to hire someone to kill Jack while all three of us were “together.” When his plans changed, he paid someone to find a list of houses that went unfinished in the last stages of the building process, essentially being abandoned. Apparently, he had held me captive in the Hudson Valley, less than a couple hours from the city.

I was going to therapy. I was taking my meds again. I was on birth control—thank God Michael didn’t get me pregnant. Jack and I were cozy in our Williamsburg apartment; we stillstayed up way too late and I still drank from time to time, but surprisingly my mental health remained in a good place.

Jack was getting ready for his summer tour with Chaos Catalyst. Everything between him and Adam seemed to be swept under the rug—they were the best of friends again. Emily was around a lot too, even Billie. We had dinner dates and went to gallery openings and the guys’ shows around the city together. Jessica was over every other day, bringing us food or random gifts. She was acting off Broadway now and she seemed happy. We all seemed to be okay again.

My twenty-sixth birthday was approaching. Jack had something planned, but he wanted to surprise me.

After his show one night, Jack and I went to the loft so he could “pick something up.”

“I’m not sure I believe that you need to just pick something up.” I side-eyed him as we strolled down the street toward the loft.

He looked over at me and grinned.

“Sweetheart, do you think I’m trying to trick you? I’d never,” he scoffed mockingly at me.

We could joke about the start of our relationship; our dark humor amused us and frankly, if Jack had never forcefully whisked me away, I’d still be with the monster.

“You’re right, baby. I shouldn’t even question it,” I jested, my lips curling up into a smile.

We walked into the loft where it was dark and quiet, and I was surprised that when Jack flicked the lights on, no one else was in there. There were only red roses spread across the floor with a round table in the middle of the loft, a black cloth covering it and a single candle in the middle.

I turned to him, confused.

He grinned at me. “Surprise!”

I shook my head at him. “What is this?”

Jack walked over to the couch on the side of the room and pulled out some canvases behind it.

“It’s a personal viewing of all the paintings I did of you.” He seemed nervous; he had four or five medium-sized canvases, the art still turned around in his hands so I couldn’t see.

“Are they X-rated or something?” I teased. “Are you going to show me or just keep them hidden like that all night?”

Jack gave me his perfect, dimpled smile.

“I just wanted to explain exactly how I felt while painting these,” he started, gently setting them next to the table and slowly walking toward me. “It was a few days after you were taken that I started these. The first one was a portrait done with oil paint, and all I imagined was the look you have when you’re upset or mad. I imagined you fighting. So this was the result.”

He picked up the first canvas and there I was, a perfectly painted portrait with my brows pulled together, my lips slightly parted, and my green eyes boring right back at me.

“Jack.” I walked toward him, gently grazing the canvas with my fingertips. “This is amazing.”

He put it down and grabbed the next canvas. He looked so serious and sullen.

“This is the next one,” he started as he revealed another portrait of me, this time looking terrified; I was frowning, my eyes wide as I looked up in the distance. My heart sank—he probably knew this look well.

He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “I hated that I so easily knew how you looked when you were scared. And I hated thinking that’s how you were feeling.”

There was a sting deep in my chest. We had come so far since that first day here in the loft. All I wanted then was to escape and run back to Michael. Now I wanted to escape any memory of Michael and never leave Jack’s side again.

He continued before I could say anything. He grabbed the next canvas and held it in front of him. It was me, smiling widely in a laugh, my eyes closed.

“A week had passed and all I wanted to think about was your beautiful, happy, smiling face. Your sweet smile was on loop in my brain,” he explained with a faint smile. “I thought you were gone and this is how I wanted to remember you. This is how I wanted the world to remember you.”

A tear shed down his cheek, and he gulped, staring at me with his big blue eyes.

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