“Months ago?”
“Yes.”
“And your next move was … coming here?”
His head tilted slightly; the mask obstructed any attempt to read his expression, which made things infinitely worse. “Well, yeah. I wasn’t just gonna leave you here.”
He made it sound like we’d discussed this countless times before, as if it were the next logical step in his plan. Like he’d already run the numbers and I’d come out as necessary inventory.
To be honest, the truly humiliating part was the unmentionable warmth I felt in my chest at his words. It was how I knew I shouldnotbe allowed to make my own decisions.
I shut my eyes for a second, trying to regain some dignity and circulation at the same time.
This is how people end up in documentaries.
“You’re out of your mind,” I muttered.
“Probably.”
“And I’m even worse for…” I gestured helplessly at myself. “Standing here debating this instead of screaming.”
“Yes,” he agreed easily. “You’re also stalling.”
“I’m panicking!”
A car honked outside, causing Sasha to turn his head sharply towards the window.
“Time’s up.”
I looked at Eric again.
At the blood.
At the life I’d packed into boxes like it didn’t matter.
“I—” My voice broke. “I can’t just … leave everything.”
“You’re not leaving everything,” he said, grabbing a duffel and shoving it into my hands. “You’re taking what matters.”
“You don’t get to decide that!”
“I already did.”
There was a heavy, terrifying silence.
I started moving, grabbing things blindly, without ever consciously deciding to, no rhyme or reason to my selections. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped my phone twice before managing to shove it into the bag. I was absolutely losing it.
“Fuck,” I muttered, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay … okay, this is a terrible idea.”
“Not really.”
“I’m probably going to regret this.”
“I’ll make sure you won’t.”
“If this turns into aDatelineepisode, I’m haunting you.”
He squeezed my hand once.