Torn between these two men. Six years, and nothing has changed, except now they both know I’m alive instead of one thinking I’m dead.

I’m fumbling with the stupid phone when I hear Jase behind me. I turn to face him, dropping the phone and rushing to him as he sways on his feet.

I wonder how long it’s been since he slept. Since he ate. He’s always asking about me, worrying about me eating and resting and if I’m hurt, and I just keep taking and taking without giving anything back. I loathe myself for it.

“Six years,” he says sadly, his dark brown eyes glassy and bloodshot, one half concealed by a swollen eyelid. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call me?”

I don’t have an answer, except the one I carry with me everywhere. My answer to everything.

“I was afraid.”

He shrugs me off and hauls himself over to the refrigerator, yanking the freezer door open. He takes something out and kicks the door with his black boot. As it swings shut I glimpse a bag of peas in one of his hands, a bottle of vodka in the other.

I continue watching as he takes two steps and leans his back against the counter, sliding down to end up in a sitting position on the floor below the sink. I tilt my head, unable to take my eyes away from him, when I spy the roll of paper towels on the counter.

Yes. I should clean his face up. He’d do that for me. He’s done it for me plenty of times.

I step over and grab the roll of paper towels, stopping in front of where Jase is sitting, blocking me from the sink. I lean across the bench, wetting a thick wad of paper napkin, and then drop to my haunches beside him.

He’s not really paying attention to me, with the bag of peas obscuring his vision in one eye, and the other firmly planted on the vodka in his hand. So when I press the cold, wet towel to his cheek, he jerks back, dropping the peas into his lap.

“Sorry,” I whisper. He eyes me warily before nodding, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cabinet door.

I take his nod and stillness as an invitation to continue, so I gently dab the blood from his face. Some of it has dried already, and I have to hold the towel in place until it dissipates. The thin material quickly becomes soaked in various shades of red, and I have to get fresh supplies several times before I’m finished.

Finally, I sit back on my heels, satisfied that I’ve done as much as I can. I notice Jase’s dark grey shirt, spattered down the front with his own blood, and probably Elliot’s as well. I reach out again with the last paper towel, intending to blot the blood from his shirt, when Jase’s hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist.

Our eyes meet, and I shiver involuntarily. His hand is like ice. Then I remember he’s been holding frozen peas to his face, and his freezing cold skin makes sense.

“He was going to kill me,” Jase says, referring to Elliot.

I shake my head. “He wasn’t.”

“He can’t come back here. Ever.”

I nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to be here.”

Jase raises his eyebrows. “Well, how the hell did he know you were here?”

I point reluctantly at my phone. “GPS.”

Jase’s eyebrows practically hit the roof. He puts the bottle down and gets to his feet, grabbing the phone.

He smashes it against the hard edge of the bench, sending pieces of glass and plastic everywhere. Great. First the vase, now the phone? We’re going to be stepping on glass for the next week.

If he even wants me to stay here, that is.

Jase slumps back to the ground, apparently not bothered about the mess, and resumes swigging from his vodka bottle. I stare into space, wondering what comes next.

I’m too tired to cry. Too shocked by Elliot’s sudden arrival and subsequent departure. My thoughts are whirling.

I’ve never been a smoker, and not much of a drinker, but if someone offered me a cigarette and a bottle of wine right now, I’d light up and suck that cancer stick in between drinking straight from the bottle. Then I remember sucking Dornan’s dick while he blew smoke down at me, and suddenly that craving vanishes.

Alcohol would be most welcome right now, though.

Jase seems to read my mind; well, kind of. He holds the vodka bottle in front of my face and waves it half-heartedly. Nice.

“I need ice if I’m drinking vodka,” I say, and sidestep the broken glass to the freezer. I grab two glasses and fill them with ice, returning to sit next to Jase on the floor.

He fills both glasses straight away and pushes one in front of me, where I watch the condensation form beads and then run down the sides of the frosted glass. Beside me, Jase’s ice clinks as he drains his glass in one mouthful.

I turn my head so that I can see him, my ear resting against the kitchen cabinet, as he pours a second drink.

“You shouldn’t write yourself off,” I say, pleased at only a small amount of ringing in my ears. “Someone else might abseil into your balcony.”

Jase gives me a sidelong glance, swishing the ice cubes around in his glass so they clink against the sides. “Why, got another boyfriend tracking your cell phone GPS?”

I roll my eyes. “Ex-boyfriend. And no. No more.”

Jase appears to be in deep thought for a while before he speaks next. Watching him, the way his mouth sometimes twitches when he’s in deep thought and the lines that appear and disappear on his forehead, I’m suddenly mesmerized by his presence. Finally. I’m here with him. Not as Sammi. But just as me. Just as us.

Whatever fucked-up “us” that may be.

Suddenly, I feel very, very lucky, and very, very happy to be alive. The feeling cuts deep into my chest, physical pain that makes me tremble. I haven’t felt lucky to be alive in such a long time.

I’ve just been existing for six years. This … this is so much better.

Jase glances at me again as he finishes the second drink and slaps it down on the floor between us. He doesn’t move to get a third.

“He really faked your death, huh?”

I nod.

“Left his job … packed up his life, and moved to Shitsville to keep you safe?”

I nod again. “Yep.”

“What did he ask in return?” Jase’s question has a dangerous edge to it.

“What?”

Jase scoops up my untouched drink and gulps it down in three seconds flat, slamming it back onto the floor.

“What was the payoff for him? What’d you have to do?”

I sit up straight, frowning. “Nothing.”

He’s talking about our relationship. I clear my throat. “Look,” I say. “I pestered him for a very long time before he’d even be in the same room alone with me. It’s not what you think. I loved him.”

Jase snorts. “Falling in love with your captor, huh?”

I bristle angrily. “He’s a good man. He gave up everything for me. His career. His future. His safety. Everything. And you know how I repaid him? I waited until he went to work at his shitty job he got to support us, and I tried to gas myself in his fucking garage.” Tears of rage and humiliation burn my eyes and slip onto my cheeks where I swat them away. Jase’s face has changed from annoyed to churlish, and he tries to take my hand, his thumb rubbing the slightly raised flesh at my wrist. He’s never noticed it before, but now he pulls it closer and studies the scar tissue that marked yet another unsuccessful suicide attempt made many years ago.

“I didn’t realize,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

I take my hand away and wipe my cheeks, pulling my knees up, and hugging them to my chest.

“You don’t need to be sorry for anything,” I mumble, shaking my head. “Just don’t talk about him like that, okay? If not for him, I really would be dead.”

“Well,” Jase says, his entire demeanor gentler and more cautious as he continues to glance at my wrists. “I suppose I should be thanking him, then.”

I smile sadly.

“I mean, I won’t thank him,” Jase adds quickly. “That fucker wants to kill me. But for you. That was a good thing he did.”