Page 74 of The Burdens We Share
He’s going to kill me. There’s no way that this doesn’t end in my death because there is absolutely no way that I’m going to let him touch me. I’ll turn myself over, but that’s all he gets from me. I refuse to even play into his delusions. I love Dallas. There, I said it. I love Dallas and I refuse to tarnish that love by letting this freak anywhere near me. I want to die in love with Dallas Carter.
“I’ll see you at nine,” I breathe into the phone before I hang up. Was it hasty of me to hang up on him? Yes. I just couldn’t let that conversation go any longer.
My hands shake as I tuck my phone back into my pocket and rest my palms on my side of Dallas’ bathroom counter. I admire how natural my items and his look next to each other. My makeup brushes next to his designer colognes. I’m going to miss this. I’m going to misshim.
But I have to save my best friend. Tears stream from my eyesand I squeeze them shut and bite my lip to contain any sounds I may make. This man is going to kill me. Even if I played pretend, it’s possible that I could say or do the wrong thing and he’ll become so triggered he’ll just snap and strangle me on site. I’ve watched too many murder documentaries with Aria to know that’s how this works. I’m going to be one of those dead girls that gets a documentary made about her tragic death and people will watch it and it’ll get a lot of press and a lot of buzz, it’ll trend for a while, people will pity me, they’ll say my death was “such a shame,” and then in a couple of months, they’ll forget all about me and life and the world will go on as it was. I’ll be a distant memory, another celebrity that died. The only people who’ll keep my memory alive are in this house and of course, Brody. And then there’s my mom and Sam. A muffled sob escapes my chest as I think about how devastated they’ll be to lose me, especially considering my father is gone.
I sink down to the ground, my legs suddenly feeling like jelly as I pull my knees to my chest and rest my back against the white cabinets. I sob into my knees as aggressive pounding suddenly sounds on the door and catches me off guard. I jolt where I’m sitting at the noise and place a hand over my mouth to contain my crying noises.
“Ivory, are you okay?” It’s Dallas. It’s the man I won’t get to have a future with because I’m going to die. He sounds so worried.
I try to control my voice, “Yeah! I’m okay.” I lie.
Silence for a second before he twists the knob. The door doesn’t open because it’s locked. “Let me in, Little Devil,” he commands.
Silent tears pour down my cheeks, “I’m peeing.”
“You forget I’ve been inside of you. I’m very familiar with your bodily functions. Open the door,” he demands, his voice strained. “Please,” he pleads. That one word breaks my heartbecause Dallas isn’t a begging man. He doesn’t say please. He gets what he wants. I can tell from that one word that he’s just as broken inside as I am right now, but for his own reasons.
I shove off the floor and unlock the door after wiping my cheeks. The knob immediately twists and he pushes inside, his frazzled gaze roaming over my body. He looks so worried, his hair mussed most likely from having run his fingers through it a million times. His intense hazel gaze studies me and he frowns at whatever he sees, “You’re crying.”
I open my mouth to deny the allegation, to make a joke, to make an excuse,something. But nothing comes out but a sob as more tears rush to the surface and I toss myself into his arms. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me, his large palm cradling my head to his chest. “We’ll find her, baby. I promise,” he says into my hair as he kisses the top of my head.
I know they’ll find her. They’ll find her because I’ll be turning myself in to free her. I just can’t tell him that. No. The true reason I’m shattering right now is because this is one of the last moments I’ll have with him.
I want to tell him that I love him, but something holds me back. It feels wrong to tell him like this. So I don’t.
“We’ll find her and you girls can all go back to planning weddings, filming movies, and driving us insane,” he promises.
I take a long and deep breath to settle the sob that’s about to burst out of me because none of that is true. I’ll never get to do that again. But he doesn’t know that. I nod, forcing my tears to slow as I look up at him, “Thank you.”
He leans down and presses a soft, chaste kiss to my lips. “I would do anything for you, Ivory.”
I know from the use of my real name and not his favorite nickname for me, that he’s being so stern and serious. “I know,” I answer. Because I do. I wipe underneath my eyes, freeing him from my tight grip on his dress shirt. “We should get back andhelp,” I remind him.
He hesitates, giving me a long look. He cocks his head at me, analyzing me, “Are you sure something else isn’t going on? You seem off.”
Curse you, Dallas Carter for knowing me so damn well. I force a small smile, “Yeah, I’m just afraid for Brody and I miss her.”
His gaze pierces into mine for a moment and I swear he looks like he doesn’t believe me until he nods, the tension leaving his features. We walk side by side out of the room and we walk together to the kitchen where Aria gives me an expectant expression, agitation on her face. Oh right, her tampon. I reach into my back pocket and hold it out for her in front of everyone because let’s be honest here, we’re a close-knit group. We all know about the details of Harvey and Brody’s sex life on our studio couch and the entire world has seen Aria and Sly fucking. Nobody bats an eye at the tampon as Aria snatches it from my grasp and storms off muttering, “Ten years later.”
I’m going to miss that too.
Dallas returns to his seat at the counter beside Harvey and I notice Selene rounding the corner of the island and resting her hip against it. She looks green in the face so I stride over to her and ask, “Are you okay?” Keeping my voice low.
She waves me off, “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m getting a bug.” She quickly changes the subject, “Are you okay? You were gone for a while.”
I nod quickly. Too quickly, “Yeah, I’m okay. I just miss her.”
Selene frowns and averts her gaze to the floor. “Can I tell you something?” She asks me.
“Of course,” I encourage her.
“I never wanted to be your manager,” she admits and my jaw drops.
I scoff, “Blunt much?”
She gives me a weak smile. “I never wanted to be a manager.I wanted to practice law. I went to law school for a reason. I always wanted to be a big corporate lawyer, own my own firm, hire only women because ninety-nine percent of men can’t do things correctly-”
