Dissolution (Breach #1.5) (4 page)

Alive.

She continued to avoid looking
at me while booting up her computer and sorting through the piles on her desk. Still no acknowledgement.

“Good morning, Lila,” I said. I was go
ing to say more, but refrained when she cringed. My chest burned, the knife twisting deeper.

It w
as better that way.

The days passed just the same, silence prevailing between us. I hated it. Every moment was to
rture, and not just on me. Lila wasn’t even trying to hide the pain, her façade blown away. Stuffing herself into work to avoid thinking, perhaps?

I knew that wa
s what I was doing. Distracting myself with contract after contract.

On her fourth day back it was so busy I didn’t even take a lunch
break. I ran to the lobby, picked up a quick deli sandwich from one of the vendors that occupied the first floor, and ate at my desk. I almost picked up Lila’s favorite, but I had a suspicion it was a bad idea.

She never left her desk, other than to
get more coffee or some water. She drank her coffee black, so I knew she wasn’t getting any calories there, and I hadn’t seen her eat anything.

I glanced
over at her and cringed. She’d lost weight over the last week. Not a lot, but noticeable. I knew I was to blame.

She’s in love with you!

Caroline’s words rang through, interrupting my thoughts.

There was only two hours left before she was to leave, Jac
k making sure she didn’t overdo it, and I had a feeling she wasn’t eating at home.

I kne
w I wasn’t.

“Lila
, go eat something,” I said, my eyes never leaving the screen. I needed to stay detached to keep myself restrained. That was why I hadn’t engaged in conversation with her since her return.

“No.” H
er fingers didn’t even skip a beat on her typing.

My jaw twitched.
“Go.”

“I
’m not hungry.” Her voice was detached, but held the beginnings of annoyance.

I slammed my hands down on my desk.

Dammit!

I
n my peripheral she jumped, but kept her head down. I startled her. She did look my way as I stalked out and down to the break room. I surveyed the contents of the vending machine and found there wasn’t much of anything healthy, but at that point she just needed something in her system.

H
er favorite granola bar was there, so I entered my money into the slot. After retrieving it from the machine I returned to the confines of our office. I threw the bar onto her desk and it landed right in front of her.

“Eat it,” I demanded
.

“No.”

“Eat the fucking granola bar before I shove it down your throat.” It was taking all my control to keep from yelling at her; I was so angry that she wouldn’t just take it.

H
er hand wrapped around the package, and I smiled on the inside. My body sighed in relief that she was doing as I asked, but was quickly proven wrong when she threw it against the wall. It shattered inside the wrapper with a crack before falling to the floor.

“Oh, I’ve heard that threat before,” s
he spat up at me. Anger was boiling in her eyes, venom lacing her tone.

My eyes grew wide as I remembered the last time I’
d given her a similar threat. My chest ached, longing for the time when things were different between us. Times where my possessiveness was allowed to get the better of me, and my cock ruled.

Her anger was new, confusing, and I didn’t know what to do.
Something that scared me, but made me proud at the same time. I hated that she was going against me, but at the same time happy she was fighting back.

I’
d taken to drinking at night, which was not good for anything that got in my path. The alcohol reduced my inhibitions, and the beast was let out. All my anger and pain unleashed upon my surroundings.

I wondered if I was like a
drug addict going through withdrawal. I had all the symptoms, my physical dependence on Lila showing its ugly self.

My depression and anxiety
spiked, and I craved her more than I ever had before. I
needed
her.

My condo
was a mess, the drywall still laid on the floor in the entryway, various pieces of furniture were knocked over, and the closet in the master bedroom was ransacked. Clothes, shoes, belts were strewn all over the floor. Casualties of my search for something, anything, that was hers.

I emptied the hamper and found a shirt of mine she had thr
own on one night and found it still smelled of her. I sighed, having enough of a fix to calm me somewhat.

I was a mess and it was my own fault. We could have been together, there were ways.

But there was no thinking on that day, only pain. It was for the best…for her.

We can give her what is best, what she deserves. We used to be that man, we can be him again.

Seeing her in the
hospital, unresponsive, had been unbearable, but she was awake and she would get over me and move on. Get married and have a family.

Our
family. We could have been a family; we could have
made
a family with her.

I shuddered at the thought, my eyes turnin
g toward the small wooden chest lying exposed in the closet after my search. My mind moved back to another “made” family. My hand caressing the bump that lay between her hips, the ultrasound showing the life we had created.

Gone.
All gone.

My wife.

My little boy.

“Happy birthday, Daddy!” she said with an excited smile while I opened the box she
handed to me.

We were spending the weekend at her parents
’ place for a combination belated birthday-Father’s Day party.

Within the box laid
a black picture frame. Behind the glass an ultrasound picture with an arrow pointing between what appeared to be legs with the words “I’m a boy!” printed on it.

I smiled
as I looked from my wife to the picture containing our child. Miscarriage after miscarriage, finally we were going to have our family. I leaned forward and captured her lips, conveying my love for her and for our child.

“I wish I hadn’t missed that appointment.”

“It was the first one you haven’t been able to make. I think that’s pretty good, especially with your schedule,” she said, her hands running through my hair.

“But, I missed this.
” My fingers traced the form of our child.

“But what a great birthday sla
sh Father’s Day gift! Besides, you won’t miss anymore.”

I was pulled back by the frightening reality her statement held.

No, I didn’t miss any more because there were no more to miss. She didn’t know, none of us did, that just a few short hours later I would lose them both.

They said he wouldn’t have survived outside the womb
, even if he’d survived the crash and they’d gotten to him in time.

I saw the evidence photos; he didn’t survive the crash.

I pulled the shirt back up to my face and inhaled, breathing in Lila’s lingering scent. It was amazing how even that tiny bit that remained could calm me. What was I going to do when there was no more scent?

Her soft, warm body haunted me. I wante
d to feel her in my arms. Just…feel her. Lila,
my
Lila.

My hand unconsciously rubbed at my chest to try and soothe the ache that lay beneath.

You can still fix this. Get her back!
The beast spoke.
Lay claim to her, make her ours! Marry her!

“
No.”

Why?

“And give Vincent Marconi someone else he can take from me?”

We can protect her!

I couldn’t protect
them
; how was I supposed to protect Lila?

I looked up at the clock; fifteen minutes past eight. She was running late,
past her normal seven-thirty. I tried to ignore the thought that sprung forth about the last time she was late, but it caught me nonetheless.

The phone on my desk rang and, in my daze, I answered it without looking at the caller ID.

“Nathan Thorne,” I said in greeting. There was a whimpering on the line before Lila’s voice broke through.

“
N-Nathan, i-it’s Lila.”

There was something wrong, off in her vo
ice, and I found myself on edge—my body leaned forward, bracing for the impact of her words.

“I-
I’m n-not going to-to make it… Oh, God!” she cried out, and I heard the pain and fear. Mine was rising to meet hers. Her speech faltered, and I was unable to make out what she was saying. “Won’t…be in…”

“Lila? Lila
, are you okay?” My anxiety was skyrocketing faster than my heart rate. Her pain coming out in whimpers and gasps. She was having a difficult time breathing.

“So…
ung…so much b-blood,” she whispered more to herself than to me. “I d-don’t know where…w-where it’s com-coming from.”

Her voice grew in pitch near the end. My stomach dropped a
nd the blood fled from my face.

“Lila, what happened? Where are you?”

“C-crash. N-not far… St-t-star-b-bucks,” she struggled to say.

I jumped up f
rom my chair. Voices of the rescue crew were in the background, asking her questions, gaining vitals. What sounded like a chainsaw started, and I feared they had to cut her out of the wreckage.

Crumpled metal and mangled flesh flashed before my eyes and
a vice formed around my chest then began to tighten.

“Lila! I’ll be right there. D
o you hear me? Lila!”

There was no response before the line went dead. I slammed the phone
down on the receiver and ran out of our office. I rushed to the elevator bay and pushed the down button at a frantic pace in a fruitless effort for it to arrive faster. The doors sprung open, and I barely registered anyone was coming out as I pushed through and entered into the cab.