Page 6 of I Will Break You
“Happy birthday,” she squeals.
My eyes snap open. I’d almost forgotten I just turned twenty-four. “Thanks.”
She draws back, her brows pulled together in the frown she makes whenever she’s trying to gauge my mood. “And congratulations?”
“Not really.” I stand aside, letting her in. As she walks toward the kitchen, I yelp. “Lounge.”
Pivoting, she walks into the front room. It’s one of the few spaces in the house that doesn’t overlook the Parisii Cemetery, instead facing onto a street of townhouses. Its walls and ceilings are black, as is the furniture, with the only pops of color coming from a gilded mirror over the fireplace that matches the chandelier.
Myra plops down on a leather sofa. “You’ve already gotten two million views.”
It takes a few heartbeats to realize she’s talking about the video I made last night when I read out Xero’s letter. The views mean nothing to me now, a hollow victory in the face of my betrayal.
“Oh.”
Her face drops. “Sorry. Of course, you wouldn’t be pleased.” She pats the seat. “How are you holding up after the execution?”
Shuddering, I cross the room and run my fingers through my curls. The backs of my eyes grow hot. My lips tremble as I force out the words, “I wasn’t there.”
She rears back, her eyes widening. “You left after the wedding?”
The accusation in her question hits like a punch to the gut. Pressure builds around my sinuses, and my eyes prick with tears. How the hell can I say the words out loud?
“I…” I swallow over and over, trying to push back a surge of guilt and grief and regret. “I couldn’t go.”
“Amy. Don’t tell me—” she clamps a hand over her mouth. “You jilted Xero?”
All the emotion I’ve been holding back pushes against a dam, trying to release. I breathe hard, holding back a sob, but the weight of my choices forces me to sink into the seat.
It will sound so callous, spending months sharing my deepest secrets and darkest desires with a prisoner on death row, building up a bond that became our lifelines, only for me to leave him at the altar. The thought alone is suffocating, and I’m drowning in a sea of self-loathing cowardice.
“You don’t understand,” I rasp.
“What happened?”
“I had everything ready. The outfit. The cake. The toys… Then I made the mistake of checking my mail.”
Myra takes my hand. “What did you see?”
“An envelope.” My throat thickens, and I suppress a shudder. “It contained a photo of me as a child, strapped to a gurney with a mouth guard between my teeth and electrodes pressed to my temples. They were all over my body, and I was naked.”
Her eyes widen. “What did you do?”
“I called the police. They questioned me for ages, demanding to know when the photo was taken. When I told them about my missing memories, they acted like I was lying.” I exhale a shaky breath. “By the time I got to the prison, the woman at the door wouldn’t let me in.”
“But you had special permission!”
Guilt claws at my lungs, turning my breath shallow. Xero made a huge sacrifice to arrange that wedding, and it all went to waste. “I was only a few minutes late, but that was enough for the guard to ruin our first and last real-life meeting.”
“Did you at least call his phone?”
My eyes brim with tears. “I did, but who knows if he ever got my last message.”
Her brows pull together. “Oh, Amy. I’m so sorry.”
I stare at my lap, hating myself for being distracted, hating the traffic for slowing my journey, hating that stupid prison bitch who smirked in my face, letting Xero die thinking his love for me wasn’t reciprocated.
“Are you sure it was you in that photo?” she asks, changing the subject from my failure.