Chapter Fifteen
Mia
Maria brings in breakfast.
I don’t eat it.
I roll over and smell Mateo on my bedding, and I can’t find my appetite. There’s an ache inside me, a pit in my stomach, but it’s not from lack of food.
Everything hurts.
Being conscious hurts.
I ask for more of whatever they gave me last night to make me sleep.
Maria leaves, hopefully to get it for me.
I have the hangover from hell, only I didn’t drink. Well, I guess I did. I drank from the devil’s cup, and now here I am.
And Vince is gone.
It’s all my fault.
Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.
Remembering Mateo’s words, one of his many warnings, slices new lacerations across my already gaping wounds. It’s so easy to forget he’s legitimately dangerous. It’s so easy to get swept up in the romance of him, to see the soft side and forget the dark side is always there, it’s just not always at the forefront.
It’s so easy to love him, when you should hate him with everything you have.
Well, not so much now.
It’s a foreign feeling, but it’s easy not to love him right now.
He’s sucked me dry. He’s drained me. I need energy to heal, to try to find my way back from this, and I don’t have any. Where I had feelings of love, memories of tender touches and sensual smiles, now I have helpless fear, memories of him saying horrible things and doing worse. Memories of Vince’s blood on the hands that once brought me such pleasure.
Today is Sunday, but there’s no dinner. Maria tells me that when she comes back and sits on the edge of my bed, watching me. I don’t expect it, because Maria’s not especially warm, but she places a steadying hand on my arm and tells me, “You’ll heal. You’re strong, Mia. You’ll be okay.”
Her words trigger new tears and I shake my head as much as I can without lifting it from the pillow. “I’m not strong.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve survived everything they’ve thrown at you and kept your spirit. You’re just sad now. That’s okay. But don’t let them win. Don’t let them drain you. You rest and mourn and you come back stronger.”
I don’t tell her that’s impossible, because I don’t want to be mean. I didn’t even think Maria particularly liked me, and here she is offering me comfort. I nod my heavy head. “Thank you, Maria.”
With a heavy sigh, she gets up and goes back to her tasks.
But when she leaves, I cry.
---
When the door opens and closes again, I know it’s Mateo before he comes into my line of sight.
He came in here last night, too. He went into my bathroom, stripped off his soiled suit, and showered. Then he came out and climbed into bed beside me. He didn’t touch me. We didn’t speak. I don’t know why he couldn’t have just left me alone to cry in peace. I didn’t hide my pain to protect him. I made him lie there beside me, unable to touch me, and I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. Until there was nothing left, and I finally drifted off to sleep.
I feel emptier tonight. Last night I felt broken, emotional, but tonight I’m dead-empty.
It stirs bitter memories as he undresses wordlessly and climbs on the bed, the same side he takes in his room. His presence here makes my stomach ache, and I wish he’d leave.
Mostly I wish he’d leave. There’s some sick part of me that’s glad he stays—not because of any affection for him, but because he deserves to endure every second of my pain.
I wonder if this was how Vince felt when Joey died. When I was so goddamn heartless, because Joey had tried to kill Mateo. I didn’t really feel his death, but Vince did. Vince felt it hard. And I left him alone in his pain. Because of Mateo.
He ruins everything. He’s surrounded by all these beautiful things, gifted with irresistible beauty himself, and all it does is cover up all the darkness. It’s like a spell, an enchantment, to cloak the unbearable reality.
But last night, for a horrible stretch, I couldn’t feel the spell anymore. There was a break in the enchantment and I could only see what was really there. There was nothing to mask the horror all around me. I was living in a dream and it abruptly turned into a nightmare—but it was real. It is real. Not the beautiful veneer. Not the façade. The nightmare is the reality.
I don’t know how I can ever unknow that.
Mateo doesn’t keep to his side tonight, and that makes me angry. He reaches over to pull my hair back away from my face. My hair’s a tangled mess. I only moved from this bed today to use the bathroom. I’m a mess. I couldn’t care less. I don’t want to be another one of Mateo’s pretty things.
If only I would’ve realized that a week ago.
Finally finding the energy to speak, I grind out, “I don’t want you here.”
“I know,” he answers.
It doesn’t make a difference. It’s not like he’ll leave because I don’t want him. He’s Mateo; he does whatever he wants, no matter who it hurts.
“You should go back to Meg,” I tell him.
“You need my attention more than she does.”
I try to laugh at this, but it’s like I’ve forgotten how. A bitter, jagged sound comes out instead.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” he tells me. Even the way he says it is everything. He’s sorry I’m hurting, not sorry for what he did. Not even sorry for hurting me himself—just sorry I’m feeling it. Sorry I feel so goddamn much.
“I’m sorry you’re not,” I reply, honestly.
“You’re the only reason I didn’t kill Vince a long time ago, Mia,” he states. “He was unpredictable. Dangerous. He was a time bomb, and he would’ve detonated eventually. He had the worst parts of our fathers in him. My father’s crazy, his father’s short fuse. He was a deadly mix and every time I pissed him off, he inched a little closer to exploding. Would you have preferred he kill me?”
I’ve thought about that a time or two throughout the night. Maybe that would’ve been better. Vince was unpredictable, unstable, and definitely a threat—but he wasn’t pure evil. There was still so much good in him—a little less each day, but that was because of me. Because of Mateo. We were hardening him, chipping away at the good. What if it would’ve stopped? What if we would’ve stopped damaging him? There was still so much good in him.
There’s not in Mateo. I thought there was, but I was wrong. Again. Only there’s no one left to save me this time.
He fooled me once, when I didn’t know him, when I was more trusting, when I hadn’t really seen him yet. I could’ve maybe forgiven myself for that one, though I never really did. I let myself sink into it. I floated into his current and got dragged under.
But now he’s fooled me twice, and there’s no excuse this time. I saw what I wanted to see. I believed there was good in him because I wanted it to be true, not because it was.
Even as I think that, my mind dumps salt into my wounds, reminding me of his playfulness, his tenderness. I didn’t imagine it all. It was there; it happened.
Since he’s not going anywhere, I roll over to face him.
He doesn’t look surprised.
“I thought there was good in you.”
“I told you there wasn’t,” he replies.
“But you showed me there was.” I pause, but he doesn’t respond fast enough, and my mind is starting to work, the tired cogs finally moving. “Even if there was nothing in it for you. That’s the thing. Maybe you primarily do good things when there’s a reward in it for you, but not always. I never expected you to apologize to me. You got nothing out of doing that. I was already yours for the taking, you knew that. So why bother?”
Mateo sighs, capturing my hand and placing it over his heart. I want to move it, but to be honest, right now I need evidence that it beats, so I leave it there. “Mia, I’m not a character from one of your storybooks. I’m not drawn from lines; I’m not filled with ink and printed on a page. I’m a person. I’m flesh and blood. I feel things, too. I’m not sensitive like you, but I can still feel. And I’m from the same violent blood as Vince—I just exercise more self-control. I take the time to think things through. My father was wild and soulless. Last night would’ve been nothing for him. He drove women to kill themselves to escape him. I’ll push your limits, Mia, but I’ll never push you that far.”
“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.
Something fierce crosses his face then and his hand comes up to cup my face protectively. “Yes.”
“Would it hurt you if I died?”
I’m not suicidal, but the worry that flits across his face when I ask that reassures me. “Of course it would. Don’t say things like that, Mia.”
“Because you know it would be your fault?” I question.
That time he doesn’t answer, he just studies me, frowning. He’s trying to get a new read on me. His goddamn logic is in the driver’s seat again. He’s reclaimed the hold on his mind that he clearly lost last night. He’s doubting now—me or himself, I’m not sure. I don’t care.
“That’s how I feel now,” I tell him, since he isn’t answering. “Because you killing Vince? That’s my fault. I can never get out from under that. He tried to keep me safe from you, and he paid with his life.”
He’s dark and unreadable as he says simply, “Vince knew the cost before he made the purchase.”
I shake my head, pulling my hand from his grasp, swatting his hand from my face. “You can’t always get your way, Mateo. You have to lose sometimes.”
“Even my wins come with losses, Mia,” he says, simply. “That’s the problem when you play with people. You can’t always prepare for every eventuality.”
I don’t want to look at him anymore so I roll back over. “You shouldn’t play with people. We’re not here for your amusement. We’re not toys.”
He doesn’t respond to this, and I can’t see his face, so I can’t even read whether or not he agrees. I guess he doesn’t, because his actions say plenty.
Instead of leaving me alone tonight, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me back against him. I don’t want it, but I know it doesn’t matter. My will means nothing to him. He’s shown that many times over, I just haven’t been paying attention.
I hate that his arms locked around me still sort of make me feel safe. I hate that right on the heels of every truth he demonstrates, my foolish heart still longs to believe his lies.
His lips travel slowly along my neck, dropping tender kisses. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out.
“There’s nothing in our way now,” he tells me. “I know it’s not the way you wanted it, but the course is clear.”
“No, it’s not,” I tell him, moving my head to try to get him to stop kissing me. “You’re in the way, Mateo. You are.”
He stops kissing me, but his hold on me tightens. “I know I’m hard to love, Mia. Just don’t stop trying.”
He doesn’t understand.
It’s not hard to love him—it’s hard to love him and still love yourself.
It’s hard not to love him. It’s hard to look at him and see what’s really there. Vince’s body isn’t even cold, and Mateo’s goddamn lips across my skin already make my body tingle again.
I thought once I’d have to sell my soul to be with him, but even then, even mere days ago, I didn’t understand what that meant. I didn’t understand how it would feel. I thought loving him would hurt less.
Hating him hurts just as much.
Everything with Mateo hurts. Everything.