I wake in the morning and stagger into my en-suite, wincing as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are all puffy and swollen with dark circles below them. Fuck this. I get in the shower and hope that the hot water will miraculously improve my face. It doesn't. 

I throw on a tank top and a pair of leggings, leaving my hair loose and wet down my back. When I step into my living room I find the sofa just as I left it—no sign of Silas. Good, I think even as a small fissure of disappointment takes root. Every girl wants a guy who's going to fight for her, even if he is a ripe cunt. I guess I want Silas to love me as much as I loved him. I want him to hurt as much as he hurt me, but it's not possible. He doesn't have enough of a conscience or he wouldn't have done it in the first place. I still remember the way he fucking stared right at me as shoved my sister’s face into the mattress and ploughed right through her. She'd always wanted him, always been so bitterly jealous of me. He only had to look in her direction and that spoilt bitch was game.  

In the two years since, I've heard how he was in a bad place, how he was depressed and angry, fucked up from his tour in Afghanistan. He told me over and over how he was trying to push me away but I always remained loyal, no matter what he said or did. So, he did something truly unforgiveable. I finally walked away from him, clutching the broken pieces of my heart in my hands. Yes, I want him to hurt. I want him to fucking bleed. I go into the kitchen and busy myself. It's done. He's gone. I need to forget it and push all thoughts of Silas from my mind.  

I'm flipping through the latest issue of Tatler and sipping on my coffee when I hear my front door open. What the fuck? I glance up, a frown on my face as Silas rounds the corner clutching a bag from the local bakery. My stomach clenches uncomfortably, the same way it always does when he's around.  

I pick up my half-drunk mug of coffee and take it to the sink, turning my back on him. I need a second.  

"I told you to leave," I say without looking at him.  

"I went and got breakfast. We need to talk.”

Whirling around, I grip the edge of the kitchen counter behind me. His eyes trail over my body and I feel like he just set me on fire. The plain white t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his massive shoulders and cut waist. Tattoo's wind down both arms and up the sides of his neck. Dark and dangerous. That's what he is, and it's what always made him so attractive to me. My mother always hated him and the more she hated him, the more I wanted him. Now, I see exactly what she saw: a military guy four years older than her teenage daughter who looked like trouble with a capital T.  

"No, we don't. There's nothing to talk about, Silas." 

He braces his palms against the breakfast bar, hunching his shoulders forward as his dark eyes lock with mine. "I've let you run for two years, baby." His lips tip up in a small smirk and my heart skips a beat. "I'm done letting you run."  

I roll my eyes and walk past him. His hand darts out, grabbing my wrist. "Let go of me," my voice shakes, emotions bubbling to the surface.  

His eyes search my face. His jaw clenches. "No."  

"Silas," I say quietly. I can't do this. I feel weak and exposed and the wound I promised myself I wouldn't open is gaping, bleeding and raw. I feel myself waver and try to swallow around the lump in my throat.  

"I love you, Hope," he whispers. 

The dam breaks and I squeeze my eyes shut trying to fight back the inevitable tears. He yanks me forward, enveloping me in his arms and crushing me to his solid chest. Tears track freely down my cheeks and I bury my face in his shirt in a bid to hide them. It's pointless. The scent of his cologne surrounds me, soothing and taunting me like a dream that morphs into a nightmare. His hand presses against the back of my head. His fingers thread through my damp hair as he holds me close. The very man who causes me the most pain is now the one consoling me. That irony is not lost on me. Neither is the fact that, after all he's done, he insists on torturing me, on playing with my emotions.  

I sniff. "I can't do this with you," I mumble, pushing away from his chest. He cups my face and swipes his thumbs below my eyes.  

"I hate to see you cry." 

I huff a small laugh and close my eyes, unable to look at him. "Silas, I have shed more tears for you than I could possible count."  

"I can fix it, Hope.” His lips press against my forehead. “You loved me once." 

Opening my eyes, I step back from his reach. "Once." I still do. Love. It's such a stupid uncontrollable emotion, and yet, don't we all seek it, crave it as though it were the ultimate and most unattainable high? I guess, in a way, it is. After all, there's nothing quite like it, is there? The euphoria, the safety, the sense of just belonging. Maybe that's why I wanted Silas so much, because I loved him and he loved me, and I thought I'd managed to find my place in this world. I wasn't the daughter of Jerry McGrath. I wasn't the girl in the big house or the loud ginger. I was just his. Yes, belonging can be powerful and if I'm honest, I haven't belonged anywhere since the day he betrayed me.  

Silas places his thick finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. It's something he used to do to me all the time right before he'd kiss me. "Give me a chance. My flight goes back on Monday. Let me start over. You're not the same crazy ginger kid I once met, and I'm...I'm better now." He takes a deep breath. "Please, baby. You're my biggest regret, and...and I know I'll never love anyone the way I love you. No one will ever want you or love you the way I do. It's impossible." He's slowly battering away at my defences and I don't know how long I can stand in the face of this siege. "Two days," he pleads. 

His thumb swipes across my bottom lip and his eyes drop to my mouth, desire flashing through them.  

"Okay," I hear myself whisper. "Two days." I'm making a mistake. I know I'm making a mistake, but it's a little bit like watching a car crash. You know it's going to be horrible, but the morbid curiosity won’t let you look away.