Page 72 of Uprising

He tilts his head. “Change the subject then. Tell me something I don’t know. Something about you.”

“What is this?” I reply. He’s acting like we’re on a date. Like we’re genuinely interested in one another.

“Tell me Rose.”

“I don’t…” I begin but he just bristles with annoyance.

I take a deep breath. I don’t want to tell him anything. I don’t want him knowing anything more about me.

“I used to work out. I used to enjoy working out.” It’s pathetic, lame, he might just see right through it, after all everyone used to go on and on about my physique. There was a whole corner of social media dedicated to getting the ‘Rose body’.

“You used to have a dog too.” He remarks.

I wince then and my heart twists more with pain. Bella, my poor Bella. I try not to think of her, I hate thinking of her now.

“I can get you another one. A puppy.” He says as if she’s replaceable as well.

“No.” I say. I don’t want that. I don’t want another living thing reliant on me. Bella is dead, gone, Carter took great delight in telling me that fact, in telling me how he’d chased her down and gutted her with a knife himself.

I think that broke me as much as seeing Lara in the hands of Sampson. Seeing her being held like she’s some sort of criminal in those first few weeks after everything collapsed around me.

“You don’t go to the clubhouse anymore.” He murmurs.

“How can I when you won’t let me out of the house?”

He huffs. “Because I don’t trust you Rose. Not for a damned minute.”

I stop, pulling my arm back, folding them across myself. “You have my daughter as collateral, do you really think I would do anything that risks her life?”

He sizes me up. “Perhaps not.”

“I’m not asking for the world here, just to be able to come and go more, to have some freedom. Please Darius. I’m not a bird you can keep locked up. Can’t you see, you’re killing me by keeping me as I am?”

He puts his hands on my shoulders. “I can keep you however I want Rose.” He says.

“Then why are we even having this conversation?” I reply.

He smirks. “Fine, if I consider it, will you stop be such a bitch?”

I chew my lip. I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to just stop fighting but I can’t escape while he has me under armed guard the entire time. I need to be smart. I need to act smart.

“I’ll try.” I say. It’s the best I can do, the best I will do.

He lowers his face to mine. “Prove it.” He murmurs.

I know what he wants, what he always wants when he says those words, when he acts like this.

I hate myself for doing it but I kiss him, trying to keep it light, only his arms wrap around me and he sticks his tongue into my mouth, invading my space as I clench my fists within those gloves, needing the pain of it in this moment as if it’s some sort of release, some way to channel all that deep depressive emotion I have.

We’re in public. We’re in full view of what feels like the entire city.

I hate the taste of him, I hate the way he kisses me, the way his tongue pushes against mine.

And as we break apart I register it, the camera’s the flashes. We’ll be all over social media before we even get back to the house. I can see the headlines now, the Governor and his new bride, all loved up on a romantic stroll in the cool autumn evening.

I feel a slash of guilt at that. Betrayal too. He’s just stolen my child, literally from my arms and I’m here tonguing him like it doesn’t matter. Like Lara doesn’t matter.

Once again I’m forced to act like the whore the world has made of me when all I want to do is disappear, retreat, lose myself in only Roman’s touch. Roman’s arms. Roman’s love.