The Break-Up Retreat(96)

She looks down at Martina.

“It was your fault.” Her face hardens. “None of this would have happened if not for you. You did all this. You did this to us. And you’re going to admit to it, finally. You’re going to admit to all of it.”

Anna tugs at the drawer, and she pulls out a phone. Martina’s phone.

She waves it in Martina’s face, and then she smiles.

“We’re going to take a little video. You’re going to tell everyone what you did. I’ll upload it to your social media. You’re always going on about how honest you are, right? So it’s time to live up to that. It’s what you promised everyone, ever since the start. You always said honesty is the most important thing. So let’s be honest.”

Anna puts the phone down on the desk, and comes around the desk, a glint of silver in her hand.

It’s one of the steak knives from the kitchen. Small, and lean, and sharp.

Martina starts begging: “No, no, no . . .”

“Calm down, for fuck’s sake.” Anna sounds almost bored, now. “I’m going to cut you loose. It can’t look like we’re making you do something you don’t want to do.”

She gets down next to Martina, and when she’s sitting there, looking up at Martina, there’s something akin to tenderness on her face.

She pauses, and she reaches up with the hand holding the knife, Martina still as a statue, and my breath catches in my chest.

With her thumb, she wipes the tears away from under Martina’s eyes.

“There.” There is a loving smile in the corners of her lips. “All better.”

The thin ropes around Martina’s right arm snaps, then around the left; she gasps in pain as the blood starts flowing back in, her fingers red and swollen, deep gouges in her arms on both sides.

“Perfect.” Anna stands up and smooths back Martina’s hair. There is a greed in her eyes, in the way her fingers linger among the strands.

Like she wants to own her. Or be her.

Still.

Martina makes a slight movement, as though to get up from the chair; and Anna, quick as a snake, yanks a hold of her hair and snaps her head back.

She lingers there, her hold pulling Martina’s head at an unnatural angle, gazing down into her eyes.

“I thought you were so much better than the rest of them,” Anna mutters, her eyes glazed over. “I thought you understood me. I thought you would see me.”

“I’m sorry,” Martina says, her voice tight with the strain, her throat bulging. “I’m sorry, Anna. We can talk about it. We can fix this, I promise.”

“I know.” Anna looks over at the phone, but I can see her arms tensing, her grip on the braid tightening.

“I know you’re hurting.” Martina’s voice is cracking. “I let you down, and I’m so sorry. I let everyone down. It’s all my fault, I see that now.”

I see Anna’s grip loosening, just a little bit.

“You don’t have to do this, Anna,” Martina says. “You must be so tired. This is such a heavy burden. You’ve worked so hard. Aren’t you tired?”

Despite it all, despite the pain and the drugs and the terror, I hear it there, a trace of that old power.

Anna’s hand is still grasping the knife, but her grip is slackening, the knife dangling from her fingers.

“It’s never too late, Anna,” Martina says. “Not for me. Not for you. You deserve to be happy. Is this going to make you happy?”

Anna opens her mouth, just slightly; no words come over her lips.

“Let me help you,” Martina says. “I can help you, Anna. Whatever you want, I’m here for you now. I failed you. I see that. I take responsibility for that. But I’m willing to work with you on that. I’m willing to put the work in and heal our relationship. If you are.”

Anna takes a deep, shuddering breath. Her whole focus is on Martina.

I could run, now. While she’s distracted. She wouldn’t leave Martina to chase after me, I’m almost sure of it. I’m clumsy, but I’m better now than I was a few minutes ago. I might be able to make it out, across the parking lot, climb the fence.

It’s what my father would have done.

“You can have everything you want,” Martina says. “You can be anyone you want. If you just let us go.”

I feel the shift in the room, like an electric charge.

Anna’s eyes flash with anger, and she raises the knife, and I don’t think. I don’t let myself think.

I scream, as loud as I can, and I grab the heavy, brass award, and I throw it at the window. It explodes into a million pieces, the crash deafening, and the flying glass and roaring wind shocks Anna into ducking, only for a second.

I don’t think. There’s no time.

I reach out for Martina, and I find that she’s already sprung from her chair, and I grab her hand.

And we run.





Chapter 54


I’m bleeding. The glass cuts through my shoes, piercing into the sole of my foot, but I barely feel it.

The rain is beating against my face, the ground slipping under my feet.

I’m slow. Too slow, too clumsy.

But it’s my only chance. Our only chance.

She’s never going to let us out of here alive. None of us.