Page 82 of Almost Rotten

His jaw ticks, agitation making his posture rigid. “Look. I shouldn’t have said that in there. You’re right. But it’s not that bad. I’ll just have to be careful when they’re around—”

“Which could be all the time. What happens when you officially join the team? What will you do then? Tell them we got divorced?”

“Absolutely not.”

I throw my hands out. “They’re going to wonder where I am. You have to tell them something.”

Tytus’s face goes stony. He’s soaking wet, just like me, with rain rolling off the pieces of hair stuck to his forehead.

“They won’t have to wonder,” he hedges. “Because you’ll be there.”

My instinct is to run. To scream. To throw my purse. Turn around and slam a fist into my car. To get away. Far, far away from him.

Instead, hopelessness drapes over me, taking root, pinning me to the spot. The fight drains out of me like it has so many times over the last few weeks. Beaten down by his insistence. Pacified by the voice in my head that was certain he’d come around.

I hold out my hand, palm up. It’s raining hard enough now that the individual drops are indistinguishable, the lines blurred. It’s impossible to know where one ends and the next begins.

“Give me the fucking keys.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not okay to drive. I’ll get us home safely.”

“The safest place for me right now is away from you,” I seethe.

He stands his ground, shaking his goddamn head.

I pull out my ace and send up a silent prayer it’ll be enough.

“Give me the keys Tytus, or I’m calling Atty. I’ll tell him everything. And I meaneverything. The video you made without my consent. The distribution of the video, and the way you’re using it against me. The lies to the dean. Your delusional insistence that we’re married.” I lift my chin. “Should I keep going? Or better yet, should I cut to the chase and call?”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Why?”

“Why?” I laugh humorlessly. “Why what?”

Ty’s brow furrows, his bewilderment clear. “Why now? Why the hell would you bring up Atty or threaten what we have now?”

Numbness washes over me. With every raindrop, I feel less in control. Less mentally present. Less sane and even less alive.

Despondently, I shake my head.

He doesn’t get it. He’snevergoing to see reason where I’m concerned.

I swallow, steeling myself, then tip my head back to meet his gaze. “Because you’re out of control. I don’t know how to get through to you or what to say to make you understand. I need to get away from you, Tytus. Right fucking now.”

He stares me down as the seconds tick by.

Eventually, he huffs, shakes his head, and grasps my hand. When he drops the keys into my palm, my body sags in relief.

“This isn’t over,” he whispers. “I’ll see you at home.”

Home.

A place. One that no longer exists. It isn’t real or safe, and it hasn’t been for a very long time.

Home.

A feeling. One I’m always running from, because it jeopardizes my carefully crafted coping skills.

Home.