Areston thinks he can shield me from his past, but what he doesn't realize is I'm already part of it.
The darkness that haunts him? It's the same one that's been chasing me for years.
I've given him everything-my body, my heart, my soul-and still...
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I watch the city fade into a stream of twinkling lights, my reflection appearing ghost-like in the glass. The city that never sleeps is oddly calm at 3 a.m., bare of its routine chaos as if it's holding its breath, anticipating something to explode.
Or perhaps it's just me.
I am not even sure who I am anymore.
I want to melt into anonymity right now. I have this urge to go out there and fade into the darkness of the streets and ignore the mighty force that's sitting beside me. Anything that would make me forget the anguish I'm feeling right now.
Areston has been driving in the silence, his expression as aloof as ever. He hasn't said a word since I argued with him in the hospital. I wanted to stay with Selene, and when I couldn't because my traitorous best friend demanded I go home, I declared my wish to go home to my mother's so I could be with Kryslian when she woke up.
I haven't been to The Rothschild Mansion in ten years—not once. So, it makes sense that I've made my husband livid.
He knows I'm trying to come up with any excuse that involves me staying away from home, at least for tonight. He knows that I'm running despite my vow not to.
And honestly? I don't care how he feels about it.
Somehow, I am not prepared to face him alone once we're in the solitude of home—the place that has been so full of our happy memories but which will now serve as a constant reminder of what has fractured between us because of his stubborn refusal to say that he's willing to start trusting me.
Given our situation, it's not just the space I need for tonight. It's not enough—it's the reprieve from the agony of acknowledging the kind of colossal demand I've made—one that might kill me.
Apart from that one time when he'd gone on a business trip he couldn't avoid, we have never stayed a night apart.
We need each other too much. It's an extreme case of a codependent relationship. The loneliness that had crept into me during that one time was too smothering to repeat. I am dependent on my husband for my existence.
How can I even go a minute without needing him, let alone seeing him? That thought wanted me to surrender to my weak will and announce to him that it's okay if he doesn't trust me. I'm willing to continue without it but not go through the pain of living apart.
But I couldn't do it. I can't.
If I do that today, I might have him, but I'll lose myself forever. That's why I need some time away from him, regardless of my vow.
He hasn't said a word since we got in the car, and I am not sure if that is better or worse. It's making me feel restless and hollow, the weight of it piercing me with every passing second. It's stifling, as if I'm being sucked in an abyss—but that's who he is in his complete element—an abyss—silent, calculative to a fault, always in control, constantly consuming, always impossible to reach.
