“Wow, okay,” Sammy says, taking my hand and squeezing it. “I don’t really know what any of that means, but I’m guessing it’s to do with a guy?”

I nod.

“It isn’t your stepbrother is it, because I’m going to be honest, if it is that’s so freaking hot.”

I shake my head, blinking away the tears that are threatening to fall. “His name is Sebastian, we went to the same high school for a while.”

“Lockwood? Sebastian Lockwood?” she asks slowly, her eyes widening.

For a moment I wonder if I’m making the best decision by telling her the truth. Could she use it against me somehow? Then I just decide to do it anyway. If I really have faded from his notice then I’m not sure I’ll stay here anyway, so what harm can it do to tell her the whole sordid truth? So I do, I tell her about him deciding I was his the first day of sophomore year, I tell her about him manipulating my mom and best friend. I tell her about running to my dad’s and being so overwhelmed by the idea of him, that I never came back. Then I tell her about him warning me that there would be consequences for leaving him. About the way he stole my mom from me. By the time I explain about having no idea he was at Kingsacre until they ambushed me in the kitchen, her eyes are so wide they’re like saucers and her mouth is literally hanging open.

“So let me get this right. He got you here, had you basically under house arrest, sleeping in his bed, having sex with him and then he just apologized, told you, you were free and now he’s not bothered?” Sammy exclaims.

The scoff that falls from my lips is bitter and angry. “Pretty much,” I shrug. “It’s been a couple of weeks now and he’s barely even glanced in my direction. At first I thought it was just another one of his games. He’s always enjoyed letting me think I’ve got the upper hand, then showing me he was already six steps ahead. But he really just doesn’t care.”

“Given everything you’ve just told me, aren’t you pleased that he’s lost interest?”

Groaning, I let my head flop back until I’m staring up at the roof of the cart. “I am pleased. I hate him, but I’m also pissed. This boy has haunted me day and night for the last two and a half years and now he’s just lost interest, like I was a toy that he got bored of, or a game that he was obsessed with until something new came along.”

“I mean I kind of get it,” she offers noncommittally.

“Do you, because I don’t. I should have packed my bags and gone the moment I had the chance, but instead I’m still here, living in a house with him, in the room literally next door to him. I’m free, but I feel more caged now than I did when he was the constant monster beneath the bed.”