Page 46 of Bound By Threads
Trapped again, just like that night.
I don’t speak. Ican’t.
Roman does. Of course he does.
“You look pretty alive for a dead girl, Reyes,” he says—his voice like ice.
I flinch.
“Roman,” Elijah warns.
Roman’s head is already shaking before Elijah finishes. “No,” he snaps. “She doesn’t get to pretend like everything is fine. She doesn’t get to shake her ass on that stage like some sort of whore and act like she didn’t pretend she was dead.”
Crew’s quiet, and it’s so unlike the old him that I can’t stop myself from staring at him and trying to figure out what’s going on in his head.
Does he still hate me?
“Sit.” Roman barks. One word. Cold, commanding.
I don’t move.
Crew stands abruptly. “Sit down,Scarlett.” He says my name like it’s a curse, and it makes my skin crawl.
“Don’t call me that.” I manage to choke out.
“It’s your name,” Elijah mutters.
“Was my name.” I force myself to stand straighter even though my legs feel like jelly.
Roman moves toward me slowly with measured steps. “You owe us the fucking truth,” Roman bites out. “What happened to you, Scarlett? Did you run away? Join the circus?”
I almost laugh. They don’t deserve the real reason why I shut them out, escaped, and ran from a life of pain and suffering where all they did was mock me as I struggled to get out of bed each day.
“Stop calling me that,” I bite back, hating the way my voice grates from the lack of use.
He steps closer. Always the ringleader, as the other two stand in the shadows. “You don’t get to change your name like it erases everything. Now, either you tell us what happened, or I make you.”
My heart pounds, and I glance toward the door, but Elijah still hasn’t moved. Standing there like a sentry. I clutch my throat, my mouth gaping as I try to force the words out, but nothing comes.
“You let us think you were dead,” Crew says almost brokenly. “Do you have any idea what that did to us?”
I narrow my eyes at him, and so many things that I want to say are stuck in my throat.
The whiteboard draws my attention,and I storm over to it, grasping the marker in my hand so tightly that my knuckles blanch.
‘What it did to you? You three made my life miserable. You were fine. You moved on.’ I write.
“Moved on?” Elijah’s voice cracks. “Is that what you honestly think? I sat outside your house for a week, keeping an eye on your dad while hoping you’d walk back in the door and tell us it was all one big joke.”
My eyes sting at the mention of my dad, but I don’t ask about any of the things I want to know. Too scared that the answers will hurt me even more.
“Crew got hooked on anything that made him feel less numb,” Roman adds, his voice bitter. “I’m the one who had to pick up the pieces.”
I wipe the words I had written away with my arm. Crew flinches when the squeak of the marker against the board cuts through the room. Roman’s jaw ticks, and I can feel Elijah shifting behind me.
I don’t want to cry. I won’t cry—not in front of them.
I uncap the marker again with shaking fingers, my message shorter. Messier.
