Roses

Chapter 37

Adam

The sound of her car door slamming keeps ringing in my ears along with the subtle noise the heater makes. But no matter how much I turn it up, the cold doesn't go away. It's no longer settled on my skin, but is chilling me from within like I'm hollow inside.

And that I certainly am because she took whatever I had beating inside my chest. No. She smashed it to smithereens first. Then left with the fucking pieces.

Because I don't love you. Never have. Never will.

I close my eyes. The words sit heavy inside my chest, making it hard to breathe.

She had never told me she loved me. So I shouldn't be surprised. But a part of me truly thought she had started to reciprocate my feelings.

I rake both my hands through my hair and pull on the strands, hoping my mind gets distracted by the pain. But I barely register it, considering all I can think about is how much my chest hurts and how I can't breathe.

Apparently, she didn't just take my heart but also my breaths. How the fuck am I supposed to survive without her?

I can't.

It's that simple. Either I win her back or I perish, I only have two options.

I don't know how long I sit in the car, waiting outside her house. The action feels familiar. There was a time I wasn't able to pull away without at least spending a few minutes outside her house. I used to spend that time thinking a lot of things--what she's doing inside, if she's thinking of me, what the hell she's doing to my heart etcetera etcetera.

I wish I'd thought of telling her the truth myself. Or of covering my tracks better so she never found out about it. Anything to avoid what just happened between us.

But once I find the will to drive back home, daybreak seems close. Not that it matters. I reckon sleep will elude me till she comes back to me.

Her conversation with Michael keeps playing on repeat in my mind as I enter my home office. When I first heard it in the back of my car, I had been miles away from them and completely helpless. Every word that motherfucker uttered had imprinted on my brain, as I sat there silently praying I would have enough time to salvage the situation.

I had assumed he was only trying to scare her away, knowing how much I wanted her. I should have been more aware than that. I should have noticed the signs. Every time he acted off. When I found out he never started an investigation on her intruder. Francesca was much more adept at hiding her true self, I'll give her that. But her husband wasn't. And I still couldn't see it coming.

Every time I think of their betrayal, I feel a burning sensation within. Like everything slowly turns to ash till I'm nothing.

All the years I sought revenge, I only wished to make Zoey feel the way my mother felt. But when I walked in on the two people I put on a pedestal my whole life trying to kill the woman I love, I actually got a taste of what she must've felt the day she lost her mother.

The wound only got infected when Gibson told me they were the serial killers and planned to kill me and frame me. Just how sick were they? Was it some twisted generosity they wanted to show me by reuniting me with her? Would seeing the name of their godson on the news all over the country have brought them some perverted joy?

Or maybe they never gave a single fuck about me. Or my family. We were just a means of entertainment to them.

I don't care that they're dead. I killed them. But I care about the fact that I lost two people I thought cared about me. Again.