Page 46 of Bitter Poetry

He helps me to my feet. But I’m shaking all over, and my legs threaten to cut out. I can’t look at him as I wipe off my chin with the back of a shaking hand.

I feel used.

“I’ll see you for breakfast, Carmela.”

Fleeing the room, I go to my bedroom, close the door, and slide the tiny bolt across. I doubt it’s much of a deterrent, but in my frantic state, I decide it will provide a warning.

I burst into tears. It feels like they are being ripped out of a place deep in the pit of my stomach. I kick off my shoes, rip off my clothes, and stumble toward the bathroom where I empty my stomach in the toilet.

Another sob breaks me up, and I shove into the shower and turn it on.

I scrub myself, sobbing and shaking. I even put soap in my mouth. For reasons I cannot explain, it calms me.

When I step out, my skin is blotchy. When I look in the mirror, I see that my face is a ruin of makeup, my hair is a knotty mess, and my eyes are bloodshot.

The necklace around my throat is like a pure beacon on a dark night.

I love it.

I hate it.

Why didn’t he come for me?

Why did he abandon me?

My fingers shake as I fumble to undo the clasp, but I need it off me, I can’t have it touching me.

It comes free. I toss it away, and it lands in the corner of the bathroom.

I’m empty—cold inside. I fall into a kind of zombie state. I apply detangling spray and comb my hair. Then, I remove my makeup, brush my teeth, and use mouthwash three times.

My eyes go to the place where the necklace landed, but I turn off the bathroom light and crawl into bed.

Alone.

My mind is full of franticness, and my heart is sore.

Jessica will know something happened, but I can’t tell her what—I need to shield her from this.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I climb out of bed and collect the necklace. With the heart-shaped diamond in the center of my palm, I wrap the chain around my hand and tuck it under my chin.

It takes a long time before I fall into a restless sleep.

CHRISTIAN

Things have been a little odd between me and Jero since that conversation where he basically called out my loyalties and said I was prepared to kill him.

I mean, he’s not wrong.

I can do nothing about it, so I mostly put it out of my mind. When I’m not on Carmela-watching duty, we’re doing therounds and reminding any assholes who forget that this isn’t a democracy, and they need to do as they’re fucking told.

“Where are we going?”

Jero grunts and rolls his eyes.

He used to be chatty and brooding. Now he’s just brooding.

We’re driving out of the city, heading northbound. “Mystery drive, huh?”