Page 49 of Unhinged Love

Fuck. Even though I’m telling the truth, I hear how hollow it sounds.I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. It was all her fault.Sure, it is Tiana’s fault, but I am not blameless. The girl on the other side of the door knows it, too. No amount of truth will ease her agony, because it can’t unsend those pictures. It can’t erase the memory of every person who has looked at them since they went out.

Touching my forehead to the wood, I plead, “Open the door. At least let me see you. Let me apologize face-to-face. We’ll figure out a way through this, but I need you to open the door.”

I’m talking to myself. All she does is cry a little louder than before. Because of me. I wanted to ruin her, didn’t I? I wanted to make her suffer the way I only thought she made me suffer.

I didn’t understand real suffering until just now, sliding to the floor with my back to her door. Wanting more than anything to make it up to her, knowing I can’t. My punishment is listening to her cry and knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do to make it stop, because I’m the one who made it happen in the first place.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I call out. Does she hear me over her sobs? I don’t know, but I have to try. “And I can wait forever if I have to. You have to talk to me, eventually.”

But when I put myself in her shoes, I know damn well I would rather starve to death than face the person who destroyed me. I only hope she doesn’t decide to take it that far.

TWENTY

Elliana

“All you haveto do is open the door, and you can eat. I know you’re hungry by now.”

I hate him. I hate him so much. Even more now than I ever did before. And not only because of the pictures, though that would be enough of a reason for me to dance on his grave.

“There’s a big, thick turkey sandwich out here for you.” Saliva floods my mouth at the sound of his voice, telling me all about the food he brought up for me. “And there’s chips, too, and a couple of chocolate chip cookies. You might want to grab those now before I eat them, because they’re really good. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to go without taking them for myself.”

He can’t leave me alone. Like it’s his purpose in life to find new ways to torture me. Of course I’m starving—I haven’t eaten since last night, at least until that text came in and ruined what was left of my self-esteem, which wasn’t all that much in the first place.

My empty stomach twists in a knot, and I curl into a tight ball, buried under blankets, closing my eyes and wishing he would go away. Forever, preferably.

Once again, the last voice I want to hear now or ever floats in under the door. “You know I’m not going away, right?”

Resentment takes the place of hunger and makes my stomach clench harder than before. Oh, I believe him. He has sat out there pretty much the whole day, giving me the play-by-play of making himself comfortable, watching videos and TV shows on his tablet, commenting on what he’s watching. Asking me over and over when I’m coming out. Telling me to give him a sign that I’m still alive. I finally threw my hairbrush at the door so he would know I’m in here, alive and breathing. He hasn’t broken me. I still hate him.

He can’t stay out there forever, no matter what he says or threatens or whatever it is he thinks he’s doing. He will eventually have to go to school. The jerk skipped class today, because why give me the chance to leave my room? But he has to go back sooner or later. Until then, I can drink from the bathroom sink. I am not going to die in here.

But I very much feel like I would die if I had to look at him.

It’s almost eight o’clock when he starts his shit again. “I am not leaving this door until you open it,” he calls out. “I’ll sleep out here again tonight. Why are you making this so much harder than it has to be? I know you’re hungry. At least eat something.”

Why, so he can feel better about himself? I know that’s what this is really about. Easing his guilt, which I know he must feel based on what he sounded like when he first got home last night. He deserves it, too. I wish the guilt would kill him. He has violated me in pretty much every way imaginable. There is nothing he could face that would balance the scales at this point.

“For fuck’s sake.” There’s a lot of movement out there before he pounds on the door. “I’m sick of this. I’ve been trying to benice and give you space, but it’s time to open the door and face reality. You need to eat.”

So he can feel better? No, thanks.

“I’m going to kick the fucking door in. I’m counting to three.”

My heart lurches, and I clutch the blankets tighter, like they can do anything to protect me. He can’t mean it. He’s bluffing. Paul would have a fit if he came home and my bedroom door was broken.

“I’m serious. Here we go.” Carter’s voice echoes out in the hall. “One… I mean it, Elliana… Two…”

He doesn’t bother saying three. He only kicks the door, which flies open hard enough to rebound off the wall and almost slam shut again.

A scream tears its way out of me before I know what’s happening, and now he isn’t Carter. Now he’s one of Mom’s boyfriends, the nameless men who wandered in and out of our lives over the years. Men whose faces are now a blur, so many years later, but I don’t need to remember their faces to remember the things they did. The screaming, the breaking glass, the threats.

The nights Mom crawled into my bed, squeezing me tight like I could do anything to protect her, while the latest loser in her life tore our home apart. My door got kicked in then, too.

God, I haven’t thought about any of that in so long. It’s always there, in my memory, but it’s not something I want to focus on. But now it comes back in full color, full detail, and I scream again. “Get out! Get out, get out!”

I can’t breathe. The sound of my breathless gasps fills the room. Am I having a heart attack? My chest—it’s excruciating, the pressure, the pain.

“For fuck’s sake!” Carter barks. “I’m not doing anything to you, but making sure you take care of yourself.”

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