Shattered: A Dark Romance

Fucking scream at them. They did this too. They brought me here, they made me relive this fucking hell over and over again, and the whole time they were lying.

Everything was a lie.

All a ploy to bring me here, to make me believe in Noah, and help his case.

I drop my face into my palms. I’m embarrassed, humiliated to be taken advantage of. I can’t help but to think Auden would be so disappointed in me.

Vaughn only walks away to type into his phone furiously, but Pax stays in the destroyed living room with me, sitting on the edge of the chair with his eyes glued to me.

I’m not sure how long we sit like that until I hear someone enter the house. “What do you need?” A soft female voice interrupts my spiral. I hear Vaughn respond to her in a hushed tone before her heels click against the hardwood floor as she enters the living room. “Jesus,” she mutters.

Her eyes drift over the destroyed room, over the shards of glass, the painting with a hole torn through the center. “What happened?” Her eyes drift from Vaughn to Pax to me. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice gentle.

She rushes over to me, the nude pumps she’s wearing clicking against the floors. Her legs are clad in dark denim and she wears a white silk blouse underneath a trench coat. Sleek and effortless. Even her hair looks perfect, deep brown locks falling in loose waves.

“I don’t know.” The words come out broken, the sobs of a crying girl.

She wraps me in a hug before I even know what’s happening. Enveloping me her warm embrace. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “You’re okay.”

I feel myself relaxing in her grasp, her words easing my tension. “We’re going to breathe.” She tells me and then she

starts breathing, her eyes seal shut and her hands wrap around mine.

I do it, if only because she’s a friendly face amongst the chaos.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I let the air fill my lungs and ease the anxiety that’s building inside of me. She’s pretty, and the kindest face I’ve seen in a while. I’m not sure who she is to Vaughn, or why he called her here but I happy to have someone other than them.

Her green eyes meet mine once I’m calm and the tears have stopped flowing. “Now,” she says, a small smile rising on her cheeks. “I’m going to yell at these boys and I don’t want you to worry about it.” She smirks and rises to her feet. “What the fuck did you do to her?” she says stern and loud, the tone forcing Vaughn to take a step back.

“Nothing.” Pax growls. “She did it to herself.”

“Yeah?” The girl jabs a finger at him. “She got that worked up all by herself, hmm?”

“Laurel,” Vaughn hisses. “I told you not to ask fucking questions.”

She steps up to Vaughn next, inches from his face. “You can’t ask me to come over here and not ask questions.” It’s an amusing sight to see, she’s a whole half foot shorter trying to go head to head with him. Vaughn looks like he barely knows what to do with a woman who isn’t meek.

“She’s fine.” Vaughn shoots back at her. “You are just here to comfort her.” His tone is harsh.

“She needs to pull it together.” Noah says entering the room. “Because my parents are having a celebration tomorrow night and she needs to be there.”

This has me moving, rising to my feet and matching Laurel’s anger. “You don’t think I’ve done enough?” I shout at Noah. “This charade is over.”

Noah gets to me in seconds, leaping over the couch and grabbing my by the chin, forcing me to look at him. “Nah, baby girl, you don’t get to say when this is over. You still have an act to play.”

I yank myself from his grasp, rubbing a hand over my chin. “Fuck you, Noah.” I sneer.

A smirk rises across his lips and he backs me up further until he’s pressing me against the wall with his hard body. “Been there, done that.” He laughs cooly. “Suck it up, baby girl. You’re going tomorrow.”

MY LIMBS FEEL HEAVY, AS if they’re filled with lead as Noah leads me into the Bancroft estate. His arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me tightly to him. To anyone else, it would look like a loving gesture, a couple glued together through tragic loss. But I feel trapped, anchored to him when I should be running. It’s a struggle to move, he had to pull me from the warm bed I’ve kept myself curled up in for nearly twenty four hours after my panic attack.

I don’t know why he thought it was a good idea to drag me here, why we need to keep up this charade, but I’m too tired to fight with him.

I want a drink. Alcohol to numb all my senses, my pain. I want to lose myself in it.