But most of all, dear devil, I’m a willing captive to you.
He hooked me early on, even when I thought he’d kill me, deep down inside I knew he’d save me. They can say what they want, but what I feel for Max, it is true. It is not the result of manipulation—and really, even if it is, tell me how that is any different than love. Loveismanipulation of the heart and soul. And the things one will do for love—how is that not a sign of madness? There is no rationale in that emotion. None. That one emotion is, in itself, a manipulator.
“Ava?” The sound of my name jars me from my thoughts.
I turn to find Megan, the one friend I’ve managed to keep after everything, walking toward me with two Starbucks cups in hand. She slings her backpack down before handing me one of the clear plastic cups and brushing her platinum blonde hair from her face. “Iced Vanilla Latte.” She smiles.
“Thanks,” I say, closing the book.
“You’re so weird with that thing.” Her eyes veer to the book and my heart leaps in my chest. I quickly unzip my bag and shove it inside.
“Yeah, just writing stuff.”
“Uh-huh.” Her gaze narrows. “Ava, I worry about you,” she says.
Sighing, I grab the straps of my backpack, push up from the lawn, and head to the Humanities Building. “I’m fine, Meg. Really. Just fine.” I don’t want to discuss this. I’m sick of discussing it.
She struggles to get to her feet before I start walking. “Ava, wait!”
I stop at the edge of the sidewalk, people nearly bumping into me. “I’ve got class,” I say with bite to my tone.
“In forty-five minutes.”
I keep walking, shoving past people.
“Ava?”
I’m angry. I shouldn’t be, but I am. This happens, something that shouldn’t bother me annoys me to the point my blood pressure rises. She is worried—and although it shouldn’t it pisses me off. Why? Because what does she have to be worried with? I am the one who has lived through some sort of fucked-up movie. I am the one who everyone thinks is insane for loving a man who held her captive. And she isworried. Worry is a state of anxiety…why the fuck do other people have anxiety for the things I have been through?
“Ava…”
I stop, turning around, my jaw clenched. “What?” I growl through gritted teeth.
“I just thought—” She freezes, her brows scrunching with confusion.
“Well, stop thinking! I am fine. There is nothing to worry about.” And just like that, the rage subsides. My pulse slowly returns to normal and the heat of embarrassment washes over me.I overreacted. “I’m sorry, Meg. I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I just. I don’t like talking about it or thinking about it. I don’t like…I just don’t want to…I just want to forget.”But I can’t. I’ll never forget him.
“It’s fine.” She places a hand on my shoulder and smiles. “Totally fine.”
And we walk back to the grass to take a seat. She rambles about the TA in her anatomy class, and I only hear half of it because like always, my mind drifts back to that room. Sixty-four days—that’s not even half a single percent of my life, yet it has shaped me more than anything else ever has. I counted the days when I was there, and now, well now I still count the days. I count the days since I last saw Max. Today is day ninety-six.
I somehow manage to shake him from my thoughts and my attention goes back to Meg. “…you should see the way he looks at me, Ava. I guarantee I could sack him. Maybe that’s what you need.”
“Huh?”
“To get laid.” She laughs.
“Oh, yeah, no. I’m fine.”
She shrugs and sips her coffee. “Suit yourself.”
Ninety-six.“You think I’m crazy?” I ask Meg. Her forehead wrinkles, I guess from the randomness of that question.
“Uh, I mean, no…not like certifiable or anything anyways.”
“For loving him.”
“Oh.” Both of her thin brows arch. “No, I get it.” But she looks away from me because she doesn’t get it, she just doesn’t want to admit it to me.
