Page 130 of Touch of Hate
Not even my brother or father saw it. Either he was hiding it well or it only got worse over time.
Maybe he didn’t even know—I’m sure he doesn’t know now. Truly sick people never do.
My Ren. My everything.
He’s so sick, and there’s nothing I can do to help.
And while I have yet to confirm I’m pregnant, I can feel it.
If it was just me, this would be different. I wouldn’t be this scared. Knowing myself, I would stubbornly hold on, convinced I could pull him out of this somehow. That there was still enough of him left, that I could get through to the part of him that’s still healthy, still self-aware.
Maybe I could convince him to go to a doctor for my sake.
Now, I’m afraid I don’t have the time for that. I don’t know how he will react if I tell him I’m pregnant because I can’t predict anything about him anymore. A light switch flips on and off inside his head, and he goes from his normal self to this other version of him. The version that is coarse and crude. Cold and violent, with a thirst for blood.
A sudden idea makes me shudder.
What if it’s that part of him in charge when I tell him about the baby? What if he hurts me because a baby isn’t in his plans? All that matters is New Haven and revenge. There’s no room in that for a baby, is there? The thought leaves me cracked open.
I cannot believe I’m actually thinking this, but then I can’t believe anything that’s happened. Maybe I’ll be able to figure it out one day, but this is not that day.
Today, there’s only one thing I can do, one thing I have no idea how to pull off. I promised him I’d always be here, no matter what, but this is bigger than us. I need to get out of here to get him the help he needs.
It still doesn’t feel real, thinking like that. I’ve sacrificed everything to be with him because I was sure it was right. That this is where I’m meant to be.
That was before. Before I saw the depth of his illness.
Before I knew I had a baby to think about it.
Am I justifying myself? Trying to convince myself this is the right thing to do? I guess so—and I have to try harder because a part of me, a very big part, wants to stay.
No, that wishes I could stay, which are two very different things. It would be nice if I could. If there was a way we could be together without me waking up every morning afraid of what I’ll find. Of who he’ll be this time.
I will not put our child through that.
This is about more than me. Maybe it’s the wake-up call I needed.
I pull a shaky breath into my lungs. There hasn’t been much noise on the other side of the door. No throwing or breaking of things.
No talking to himself, which I take as a good sign.
I’m sure he’s still mad at me, or else why would he still have me locked in this room? I tiptoe over to the door and press my ear to the wood, closing my eyes to block out everything but what I hear.
It takes a minute or so, but I’m pretty confident that what I’m hearing is his soft, steady breathing. I’m sure he laid on the couch at some point and is now peacefully asleep. Good, and not only because he needs it.
I’ve never seen a person go so long without sleeping more than a couple of hours a night, tops. Eventually, he’s going to break down in a very serious way.
I can’t be here when he does. As much as I hate the idea of leaving him alone to suffer, it has to be done. I’ll return for him with the help he needs. Things will be different then.
My eyes sweep the room before I even know what I’m thinking about. Like my survival instinct has kicked into overdrive while the rest of me fights to catch up. My gaze lands on something I bought at Walmart before we went to Reno, anticipating a nice night and the potential to dress up and do my hair.
A handful of hairpins sit on the dresser, practically begging to be used.
I grab a couple of them, unbending them as I crouch in front of the doorknob. I’ve never actually tried to do this before, but I’ve seen it done, and I understand the mechanics. It’s only a matter of doing it quietly enough that Ren won’t be disturbed.
This is insanity. The part of me that wants nothing to do with this, the part that thinks it would be perfectly reasonable to pretend this never happened and settle for hoping he feels better when he wakes up. The voice screams in my head. This is Ren. He wouldn’t hurt me.
I need to wake up. The fact is, he has already hurt me. Just because I’m not bruised doesn’t mean no harm has been done. He mocked me for my reaction to the way he killed that man, taunted me, and treated me like I was nothing. That’s not even counting the anxiety he’s made me feel.