He kisses me again when our helmets come off. I peer through the curtains once he escorts me inside. There’s a skip in his step as he goes back to his bike.
My doubts don’t stop swirling as I drag my feet to my room. They don’t take a break when my head hits the pillow, and I look up to see the glow-in-the-dark stars Mickey helped stick on.
Eventually, sleep comes.
The next day, I wake with the same thought as I did yesterday: Days like today are always the hardest.
But I know Mickey makes it better. He finds a way by saying something ridiculous.
I pull myself out of bed and go through the monotonous motions of getting ready before the rest of the house makes it out of their rooms. Shower. Dress. Hair. And… and inhaler. And breakfast. For once.
Only after locking the door behind me do I realize there’s no bike waiting for me. No Mickey.
I stand there at the edge of the porch, watching Jeremy leave for school. Then Greg and Marcus disappear off to work.
But Mickey never comes.
He doesn’t answer when I pick up the phone and call him.
He isn’t there when I go to our spot after school, or the next day when I walk out of the house with my hair down.
I call again.
It goes straight to voicemail.
I show up at his home, but no one answers his door.
I go again the next day and the next.
Until days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months.
A year goes by.
He doesn’t show up for my graduation.
He doesn’t come when I am hospitalized.
He doesn’t say “happy birthday” when I turn eighteen.
A year and one day later, I can’t walk, just like he said. I can’t bring myself to leave the bed or eat.
I’m not enough.
He ruined me.
Roman Riviera was right, and I was wrong.
I won’t die without Roman Riviera.
But sometimes I wish I would.
Chapter 12
ROMAN
3 Years Ago
Roman: 19 years old – Isabella: 17 years old.
She’s more than a dream. She doesn’t compare to my wildest imagination.
I’ve always known I have the addict gene in me, and I’ve found my vice. I’ve been addicted to Bella since the very beginning. Whether just by looking at her or hearing her voice, it fired off little signals in my brain that had my whole body craving my next hit of anything her.
I thought I knew what obsession was.
I very obviously did not.
Whatever I thought I felt before is fucking peanuts in comparison.
Now that I know what she tastes like, how she sounds when she moans, and the way her flesh molded so perfectly to me, I’m hooked. This girl was made for me, my own princess. I would give up everything for a single hit—my perfect drug. What she does to me hits like nothing else. And, fuck, if that doesn’t drive me insane just thinking about it.
That cute little whimper she made when I stopped kissing her?
The way she clawed at my back like she was as hypnotized as I was?
Don’t even get me started about how she was bucking her hips and practically begging me to take her.
Even how she looks wearing what I gave her, the earrings, necklace, and shirt. I wanted to know what the first two would look like against her skin without the last thing getting in the way. Naked, under me, and begging me to ruin her while she wears my marks.
I don’t think Bella understands the magnitude of what I just did, and she’s not nearly as impressed with me as she should be.
I stopped.
Stopped.
Me? I fought against my urges and let her walk out of there in one piece. I tore myself away from her when I only wanted to consume her whole. If I could live in her skin, I would. I don’t think she gets that.
Impulse has gotten me where I am today. Lack of control is the reason why Bella has had to patch me back together more times than I can count. Everything clicked into place when she was beneath me, looking up at me with her beautiful brown eyes. I’m her loyal servant, always have been, and always will be. She’s my purpose, my home.
One more year, and she’s all mine. She won’t have stupid shit like homework and exams to worry about. I won’t have to drop her off at home every night and watch that fucker Marcus look at her in a way that has my blood boiling.
I’ll probably still have to share her with that little shit Jeremy, but ultimately, nothing will get in our way. Not Maxim or Mikhail. And they’re going to know it.
As I drive away from her house, every voice in my head is telling me to turn around and finish what Bella and I started in that shed.
But our first time isn’t going to be with that seedy Marcus in the other room, or on the floor in a decrepit, abandoned shed. There will be flowers and candles and pretty things everywhere, like in those romantic movies she’s made me watch. She’s my delicate princess.