I had my own apartment complete with a living room, a little kitchen, my bedroom, and two bathrooms. Ren slept out on the couch, and every day I’d wake up to coffee and breakfast. I didn’t know where the food came from, and I didn’t ask. I’d sit with him and eat, then I’d retreat back into my room and watch TV, or read books, or really do anything but think about what had happened, because the second I tried to think was the second I got my flashbacks again.
It was torture, pure and simple.
Ren never once left me. He stayed in the other room, gave me space, but he was always there, strangely comforting. He saved my life, I knew it, and even though there was still a part of me that was afraid of him and hated him for what he was, I didn’t think that part of me would ever be in control again.
Mona came to see me after a couple of days. Ren left us alone and Mona looked at me like she might cry.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, taking my hands.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
“I should’ve been there. Maybe—”
“What could you have done?”
“I don’t know. Talked to them. I’m good at talking to these kinds of guys.”
“Mona, they were there to kill us. You wouldn’t have done anything but get hurt.”
She chewed on her lip then shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Amber. This is so fucked up.”
“I know.” I forced myself to smile at her. “It’s not like it’s the first time this has happened to me.”
She groaned. “Come on, that makes it so much worse.”
I tried to laugh, but I couldn’t make myself do it. “What is it about me, do you think?”
She was quiet for a long moment then squeezed my hands. “It’s not you, it’s them.”
“How?”
“Those guys are scared all the time. They’re afraid, so they try to hurt the people that can’t fight back.”
“They want to kill me because I’m weak?”
“Weak, and a girl, and related to the men they actually want to hurt. It’s because they’re pathetic.”
“Sounds more like I’m pathetic.”
“You’re not.” Her tone was sharp and she stared at me with a fierce expression. “Just because you don’t go around fighting people and killing them doesn’t mean you’re weak. You survived twice now, Amber. That means something.”
“Ren saved me the second time. The first time was pure luck.”
“No. You had a part to play in both of those.”
I hesitated. She was right. Ren did all the work—but there was that moment, when he was covering me, and I had to run to the doorway. I had to run into the fire, and I managed to do it. That wasn’t much, not even a little shred of what Ren had gone, but to me—it was everything.
“I’m alive, at least,” I said, unwilling to speak that part of myself out loud. I felt like admitting that I took some sick pride in my survival would be too much, like admitting something horrible.
“I’m happy about that.” She was silent for a second before she touched my face. “I’ll get you new paints, if you want.”
I blinked, surprised. I hadn’t thought about painting since leaving that house. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” She stood up. “Vince says we should be safe here. I doubt we’re safe anywhere near the city right now, but he’s probably right. The mansion’s got serious security. It’s been hit before, but it always survives.”
I nodded a little. “Good.”
“I’ll come visit you again soon. For now though, I’ve got some work to do.”
“Mona, thanks for coming to see me. But you don’t owe me anything, you know.”
“I know.” She smiled and drifted to the door. “But I like you.”
Then she was gone. I leaned back against the couch and squeezed my eyes shut. In my mind, I heard Ren shouting, heard the gunshots—
The door closed and I flinched, unable to help myself. Every time a door closed too hard near me, I reacted like someone was shooting again.
“Let’s go downstairs and do something.” Ren stood nearby, watching me.
I looked at him and shook my head. “No, that’s okay.”
“Come on. There’s a pool table. You know how to play?”
“Ren—”
“You can’t stay in here forever,” he said, voice soft, but still firm.
“I can try.”
“I won’t let you. So come on, baby steps. Come downstairs and play pool with me.”
I gave him an annoyed look and hoped he’d leave me alone soon. “No, thanks.”
“I’ll give you a minute to get changed.”
That pissed me off. He always found a way to piss me off. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”
He looked almost apologetic. “You haven’t gotten changed in a couple days. Maybe you should shower, too.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off—but he was right.
My anger deflated and I stood. “I’m not inviting you in there with me.”