Page 7 of Inside the Wicked

He’s never set foot in here, and still, it feels vacant without him.

I’m lying on the floor, against the cold white marble. It’s not a place you’d expect to find a person, and for a strange, still moment I pretend I don’t exist. Should someone walk into my apartment now, I would merely be a ghost.

I think about Riley and how excited she is to be going to Keithlington next month—her dream internship. I think of Adam and how he still holds hope to rekindle things with Henry someday—the love that got away. I think of my parents and how my father is thriving as the new president, ambitious and inspiring.

Then I think of how I’m lying here, my existence forgotten even if just for a pause of time, and how I hope no one will ever ask me what I want in the present or the future when I’m stuck in the past. I will always be there, in this endless tragedy, waiting for someone. Time passing without him is empty hope.

Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be.Empty.

At least through the agony I believe in one thing with aching certainty: there are soulmates in this world, and Rhett was mine. It’s clear to me in the way I can’t accept he’s gone even three months later. What we had between us was more than what most people discover in a lifetime together.

I hiss at the sting of my hand and curse. My moment of pretend is over. I can’t risk getting blood on my outfit for tonight. Though I suppose no one would know. I could bleed and bleed under this black dress and no one would see my pain camouflaged against the stark material. They wouldn’t know I was dying right in front of them if they couldn’t see it.

But that’s how life is, I suppose. Silent. Suffering. And a complete fucking tragedy.

Heading to the sink, I run the broken skin of my thumb under the water. I bleed onto the porcelain, remembering all the times I did so out of choice. My thigh has three scars now. Each one I gave myself when I conquered something.

The first fight I won.

The first time I finally hit dead center on the shooting-range targets.

Then when I beat five players in a chess tournament. They weren’t world champions, but I was proud of myself.

Alistair isn’t all about brute strength and killing. His most prized assets are strategists, analysts, the most cunning minds that can cut out competition or problems before you ever knew they were coming.

He didn’t demand those cuts of me, but I know he did from Rhett for his triumphs. I don’t care what anyone thinks; I did it to know what it felt like for him.

My intercom buzzes and I startle, turning off the water.

I really don’t want to go out tonight, but if I pretend not to be in, or perhaps asleep, Riley will flirt with the concierge until she gets a key pass up here, and I fear her wrath more than some of the brutes I’ve faced in a sparring ring.

Meeting Riley in the foyer, I try for her sake to match her smile at least. She’s beaming, practically hopping, before I reach her and we link arms to head out.

“We’re going to have the best night! Graduation is only weeks away, and you will mourn these missed opportunities.”

I doubt that, but I don’t say it.

“Do you even know whose birthday it is?”

She waves me off as we get into the Uber. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going to have fun and forgetalloflife’s hardships for the night.”

Riley means well, but I can’t deny the thought irks me. Losing Rhett isn’t a hardship. It’s part of me now, and I wish people would accept that.

At the club the bass of the music can already be heard, and I want to call back the Uber that took off. I don’t have to look to know Tony is somewhere nearby. Alistair’s vipers are always circling. He’ll likely be the only one to follow me in, but there will be others of Alistair’s men keeping watch over his prize jewel from outside.

It’s dark, with strobe lights making me flinch so often I already want to leave. I need a drink—maybe I’ll risk two—just to take the edge off me so I can survive at least an hour.

Those intentions are great until I’m accepting a third vodka lemonade, and I think I might have had one—two?—shots of tequila.

Fuck it.

I’ll order a greasy breakfast in the morning to go with my Advil before I meet with Alistair. It’ll be worth it for the numbness that starts to take over me.

In the past, I would be buzzing with excitement and trying to pull some hot guy by now with the liquid confidence of alcohol. Now, as I dance mindlessly with Riley, every pair of hands that touches me makes me want to vomit. It feels like betrayal to Rhett, and when I can’t take it anymore I try to leave the dance floor.

I’m stopped by a firm hook around my waist, which flares my anger this time. I spin in his hold, about to do something that will likely get me kicked out of this place, but I don’t fucking care.

“Whoa, wait, please—Ana,” the guy says as if he’s anticipating my fist before I’ve even raised it fully. “We’re being watched by more than just your guard dog over there. Dance with me and trust you don’t even have the right parts for me to be interested in you that way.”

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