His nostrils flared. He opened his mouth, his expression saying he was about to argue more.
But then I added, "I'm too hurt." And if he couldn’t see how wounded I was, how absolutely heartbroken, then he was blind.
He looked at me a moment, and his shoulders sagged. "Fine. John can take you. I'll take one of my father's cars.”
Good. It was what I had wanted.
And not what I wanted too. Part of me wished he'd have put his foot down and said he was coming with me. Wished he would prove to me the truth he wanted me to know. Everything hurt and I wanted it to stop. I wanted to bury my face in his sweater and sob. I wanted him to make it better like he always did in his crazy Donovan ways.
How ironic that I still wanted that? That the cause of my pain and the source of my balm could be one and the same?
But we were done talking. No more words were exchanged, none with meaning anyway. There could be no comfort. There could be no balm. He didn’t try very hard, and I couldn’t let him give it to me.
I refused his help in putting on my coat. I turned away from him as I waited for the car to pull up. But while John put my bag in the trunk, I snuck a peek in Donovan's direction and caught his eye accidentally.
Immediately, I turned my head away, but he’d already seen me.
He took that look as an invitation, and rushed to get my door.
"This isn't over, Sabrina," he said holding it open for me. "You can take whatever time you need to be angry with me. We can fight. We can be silent. But you and I are not over. I think we can agree that I've already proven myself a patient man."
I pursed my lips together, unwilling to give him anything—not a scowl, not a pout. Definitely not hope. I climbed into the back seat and refused to watch out the window as he became a tiny figure in the distance.
Donovan's driver was a professional. He was trained not to react to what happened in the backseat of the car, whether it was sex or a woman crying her eyes out all the way from Washington, Connecticut to Hell’s Kitchen.
I was thankful for that. It gave me the quiet I needed to think. To mourn.
Maybe mourn was dramatic. But was it?
I wasn't a teenager involved in my first real relationship. I didn't assume that the first fight equaled the end. I was mature enough to understand that even the most aggrieved wrongdoings could be forgiven. That even the most horrendous betrayals could be overcome.
But this thing with Donovan was so complicated and multifaceted. It wasn't just about whether or not I could forgive him. It was also about whether or not we could move on from this. Whether there was a decent enough foundation.
And one thing I did know about relationships was that people never changed. How could I ask him to be a different person? Someone who understood how to really love someone else. Someone who could truly put my needs and wants before his own self-defeating behavior. Was it even possible?
I couldn't think about any of it right now. I couldn't even think about talking to him. I was in too much pain. Too heartbroken. And too angry.
I got to my apartment building around eight thirty that night, exhausted and worn down. John offered to help with my bag, but I insisted I’d take it myself. It wasn’t heavy and I didn’t want to deal with a hassle.
I was alone on the elevator, and when I got off, the hall was quiet except for a deliveryman standing at my neighbor’s closed door. His ski hat was pulled low, his head bent and hidden by the white paper sack filled with something that smelled like curry. I trudged past him to my door with my suitcase and fished in my purse for my keys.
I must've been too distracted by my thoughts, by the avalanche of emotions that had buried me, because I didn't notice the deliveryman slip up behind me as I slid the key into the lock.
I didn't notice him until his hand was on my hip and the knife was at my throat and his mouth was at my ear.
"Hello again, Sabrina," Theo Sheridan said. "Did you miss me?"
Chapter 20
I didn't scream. Because of the knife at my throat. But I made a shuddering noise as I inhaled, as close to a wail as I dared without risking my life, and the blade trembled against my skin, my heart pounding underneath it.
I might've thought this was a dream, that I'd fallen asleep on the ride home and this was yet another one of the frequent nightmares I'd had over the years about Theodore Sheridan coming after me. I’d had so many.
As real as those had felt in the moment, when I woke with sweat pouring from my skin, my heart pounding against my rib cage, the hair raised on the back of my neck, I could see now how very different reality was from the nightmare. I could see how it really felt to have a predator at your back, threatening, in control. I remembered now. Remembered how much more terrible the real thing was.
"Careful," Theo warned, pressing the metal against my jugular. "You won't make another sound now, will you." It wasn't a question. It was a command. It was a directive.
"No." But that was a sound, so I shook my head carefully, quickly, both erasing the word uttered and acknowledging that I would do as he said. The feel of the blade against my neck as I made the movement was nearly paralyzing. But I couldn’t let it be. I had to do what he said.
Because if I didn’t…
I couldn’t think about what would happen if I didn’t do what he wanted. I couldn’t think about what would happen period.
"Good girl." Those familiar words, a phrase I loved to hear from Donovan, now made my stomach turn, and I had to fight not to throw up. He eased the knife away. "Now put the key back in the lock and let us in."
Sound rushed in my ears like I was in a wind tunnel. The hallway felt like it was closing in around me. Like soon there wouldn’t even be enough room to take a full breath. I knew if I went into that apartment with him, alone, my chances of walking away unharmed decreased exponentially.
Yet there wasn't a single alternative action I could think to take. A dozen self-defense classes over a decade and I was stumped. Any move I made, he’d have that knife on me. He’d cut me where it hurt.
I had no chance. No choice.
I nodded and lifted my trembling hand back to the lock. Though I intended to keep silent, a long whimpering sound came from my mouth as I tried to align the key. What was he doing here? Why was he out of jail? I sent up a quick furtive prayer to whoever would listen that someone would walk down the hall and discover us. Maybe if I took my time…
The metal of the blade scraped my skin again and I jolted.
"Hurry it up, Sabrina," he warned. "I'm telling you right now, I'm not putting up with any games from you."
I hurried, got the key in the lock, turned it, heard it click. I moved my hand to the knob and opened the door.
I didn't move until Theo nudged me with his knee. I couldn’t bring myself to enter my dungeon so willingly. That’s what it would be now. A place I couldn’t escape. A place that was no longer safe.
I choked back a sob as I started across the threshold.
"Take your suitcase," he said when I'd made to leave it in the hall. "Grab the delivery bag, too."
He moved away from me so that I could grab the items and I wondered if this was my chance to escape, but I couldn't think fast enough. He was too big. And I was too scared.