Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
The accident ripped apart the seams of my life, and I didn't know how to stitch them back together again. Teo was always the strong one, the one who held me together. When it was time for me to be strong for myself, I didn't want the responsibility. So, I ignored the warning signs. I ignored the fissures. I ignored every road sign along the way until I couldn't even make it through a day without the anxiety medication I was buying from a classmate to push down the PTSD symptoms clawing at my mind every damn minute. None of that was his fault.
And it wasn't his fault when the anxiety started getting out of control again, and I needed to recalibrate. That's just life with PTSD. You get better, but you never fully heal. Sometimes, you need to recalibrate. You need to do the work all over again. I recognized the signs that time, and I did the work.
"It's going to be okay," Olive says, her voice gentle. "We're going to fix this. Just give us time."
But…I'm not sure this can be fixed. The whole world knows now. My big secret is out. I'm not the perfect princess everyone thought. My past is littered with pain and trauma, things I never wanted to share with the world. I wanted to keep them hidden and pretend they didn't exist. Because if they didn't exist to the world, then it was almost like they didn't happen at all.
But they did.
Zoya was right. Teo and I never moved on. We're still stuck back there. We never got past it. We just…froze in time, unable to move, unable to breathe. We shattered to pieces, and we're still tangled in the wreckage, our pieces still scattered. We keep scattering them because we never healed. We hid. And pain is the inevitable price. No one escapes the past unscarred. I don't know why I thought we would.
"I've gotta go," I whisper to Olive. "Thanks for letting me know."
"Hang in there, Nadia. We're going to fix it."
I disconnect, curling up on my side on the bed. They can't fix it. It's up to us to do that. And I don't even know where to begin. But I want to do it. I want to heal. I want him to heal. I don't want to be free of it. It's part of us, part of our story. But I'd really like for it to stop fucking hurting so much. Is that too much to ask?
I pick my phone up, my fingers trembling as I send Teo a message.
Me: I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry you found out that way, Teo. I never wanted that. It was never your fault. I never blamed you. Please call me.
He doesn't respond. He doesn't call, either.
But I don't give up. Not this time. We did that once—we gave up. We didn't fight. And the past may still be hanging over us like a shroud, lingering in the corners, but that doesn't mean I haven't learned something from it. It doesn't mean I haven't grown.
I know what I want. I know what I'm willing to fight for now. And I'll wait for him forever if that's what it takes. I'll fight forever if that's what it takes. But the past and all its scattered, jagged pieces and painful memories doesn't win. Not this time.
We do.
One way or another, we do.
Ileave for the studio early in the morning, my phone still silent. I didn't sleep all night. I just laid there…thinking. Refusing to fall apart. I did that once. It didn't work out so well for me. So, I'm not doing it again.
I'm learning from my mistakes. Even if it freaking kills me.
He's worth it. He's always been worth it.
God, I hope he knows that, too. More than anything, he deserves to know that he's worth it.
I stumble outside, blinking against the harsh rays of the sun, to find reporters lined up at the end of my driveway in overwhelming numbers. For a minute, I just stand there, frozen in shock.
"Miss Mikhail, is it true?" someone shouts.
I cringe away from the question, refusing to answer it. I owe Teo an explanation before anyone else. Maybe someday, I'll tell the rest of the world my story instead of letting them tell it themselves. Maybe I won't. That's my choice. Right now, I can't think about that. He's the only one I owe answers to. He's the only one I need to explain anything to. And he's the one I'm worried about.
"Come on, Miss Mikhail," one of the guys Teo hired to keep them off my property says, coming forward to escort me to the Uber idling in the driveway. "Ignore their bullshit."
"Thank you," I whisper gratefully as he steps between us, using his bulky body to create a wall. It doesn't mute the roar of their questions, but it keeps them out of sight as we hurry toward the car.