Chapter Twenty-Eight

Theo

Six Years Earlier

-Mid January-

S itting on the edge of the bed, I look at my beautiful mess of a girl. She seems so fragile right now, like if I touch her, she will shatter into a million pieces. I did this to her. Danica Ellis is the strongest person I know, the pain she has endured, the challenges she has overcome are unimaginable, except I have seen it firsthand. I have watched her struggle through the mire, battered and bruised, and come out stronger on the other side. Even in her worst moments, even when she was so physically broken, she still had an inner strength that defied all odds. And now, here she is, so breakable. Barely holding herself together, because of me. If I could kick my own ass, I would.

Hesitant to touch her, but unable to bear the distance, I inch closer in microscopic increments. I try to speak, but the words freeze in my throat, lodged behind a wall of emotion. Swallowing, I try once more. “I do trust you, il mio passerotto. But baby, there are parts of me, dirty things in my past that you don’t know about. There is a darkness. . . my soul is black, stained by blood on my hands that I can’t wash away. And baby, you? Danica, you are goodness. Light itself. And you shine your light on me and make me feel like maybe I can be good too, for you. But if I share this, if you saw the real me. . .” I can’t get out the words that I know need to be said .

Danica just shakes her head, staring at me silently as a lone tear slips down her cheek. Tentatively, I raise my hand, hesitating only for a moment before reaching out to brush the wet path it left behind with my thumb.

“How can we move forward if you won’t give me your past? If you can’t trust me to love even the worst parts of you as you have done for me? You have seen me at my worst, Theo. Every ugly thought and emotion. The rage, the anxiety, the panic, the self-loathing. You carried me through it and you pushed me to do better, to be better. I love you. I love every part of you, even the parts that you claim are too dark, too ugly. But I can’t be your partner if you won’t share your burdens with me.” A steely determination glints in her eyes, under the sheen of unshed tears. My girl, with ovaries of steel. But a tightness aches in my chest at her words, and I say nothing.

She sits there watching, waiting for a response that I am not ready to give. After a beat, she nods to herself.

“Okay, well. I can see that you need some time to think things through. Why don’t you call me when you are ready to actually talk to me?” And without another word, she pulls away from me. With jerky movements, hurt and frustration evident in every tense line of her body, she turns her back to me, facing the wall as she lays down on Finn’s bed and pulling the wrinkled covers up to her chin.

Not another word from her, just shaky breaths and I can see she is fighting back tears once more, even as she pulls up a wall, an impenetrable barrier around her, blocking me out. I don’t leave. I can’t. Instead, I just sit there, silently watching my girl. Desperate to fix what I didn’t mean to break but unable to cross the ocean of unspoken words that now divides us.

I’m not sure how long we stay like that. Her, trying her best to ignore me; me, trying my best to memorize every resolute, stubborn feature of my beautiful girl. Our foundation is cracking, and I know what she wants, what she needs. I just don’t know how to give it to her, not yet. My hands shake with frustration as I run them through my hair, pulling on the ends in agitation. It’s pitch black in the room now, the sun has long since set and the darkness matches the cold settling into my dark soul.