Page 124 of Broken & Bound

Damn, I missed those amber eyes.

I longed to drown in them. But I couldn’t stomach the pain I knew would be etched in them. I was utterly lost. And my truth was even more heartbreaking. I never wanted to be found.

The first week home had been nothing but knocking. Soft ones. Loud ones. Pleading ones drifting through the wood. Mum. Dad. Sebastian. Kinsley. Tori. The Kings. Marcel… and even Pasha.

The only one I couldn’t keep out was my mother. She had a key. Thankfully, for the most part, she respected my boundaries. She had limited the checking in to only six or so times a day. Which was better than the twenty when I first got home.

It didn’t take a genius to know what they were trying to do. The problem was that I couldn’t open up. Not when it all was still so raw. The daily attempts had dwindled to just Kinsley and Tori.

They’d started a new routine two weeks ago. They’d drop Declan off at school and then set up residence outside my bedroom door. From their voices, I could always tell where they were.

Kinsley sat on the floor on the right side of the door. Tori on the left. I would come and sit in front of the door on my side. Off and on, Kinsley would sing, and Tori would join me in crying for all that I’d lost.

It was the only true comfort in an otherwise endless sea of longing. And boy, did I long for Pasha. To fall into his arms and let him ease my pain. But my guilt wouldn’t allow it. I didn’t deserve it. And nothing anyone said would ever change that.

Hannah’s words were the only ones that mattered. Because in them lay the raw, unmitigated truth.

“You don’t deserve him. You were going to kill his babies.”

The gut-wrenching reality was my new life. I exercised the only control I had over the situation. A week after they discharged me, I told my mother to stop letting Pasha inside the house.

To stop entertaining the thought that I’d relent today when I hadn’t yesterday, or the day before. It was false hope. It wasn’t fair to allow him to continue believing it would change.

It didn’t stop my ache for him, but it let me live in my little corner of denial. Sighing, I realized I should get out of bed officially. It was almost time for Tori and Kinsley’s morning visit. I stood and stretched, feeling gross and disgusted with myself. I sniffed my underarms.

Damn, you needed a shower.

The distinct shuffle of my mother’s presence outside my bedroom door jolted me. Before she could announce that breakfast was ready, I unlocked the door and swung it open. I met her startled gaze.

“Isabella,” she said, soft and comforting.

She tried to hide the shock of my condition, but it was there.

I signed the words: “Thank you.”

Signing was a hell of a lot easier to do than talking. I took the tray and then closed the door. I forced myself to eat a few bites, and then my stomach rolled. I dropped the fork onto the tray.

“For fuck’s sake. I’m not even pregnant any more. Go away.”

Was I really talking to nausea as if it were a real person? I’ve fucking lost it.

Another wave climbed my throat. My eyes squeezed shut. Fresh anger flared hot beneath my ribs. I shoved the tray across the table harder than necessary. The plate rattled loudly, fruit tumbling onto the floor.

“Damn it!”

I snatched the tray back up and marched toward the bedroom door, yanking it open. Instead of an empty hallway, two familiar faces stared back at me. Kinsley and Tori. All three of us froze.

Misjudged that now, didn’t you?

“Oh, my. It’s worse than I thought,” Tori muttered.

It didn’t take a psychic to know she was referring to me. Before I could do anything, Kinsley took the tray from my hands and set it on the ground. I crossed my arms and stood my ground.

I remained silent, simply too exhausted to even care. So I looked a mess. So my hair was greasy and needed to be washed. Badly. So what that my armpits smelled like onions?

Who cared? Not me.

And what better way to show them I didn’t than to take my ass right back to bed. But first, I needed to pee. I turned around, walked into my bathroom, and handled my business.