Chapter 7: The Roof

I lasted an hour.

Gina slept on the cot, and the sewing machine stood under its sheet.

My hands would not stop throbbing.

I kept seeing his face turn with each blow and not once lift a hand.

At four in the morning I took the stairs to the roof.

The door was heavy, and the cold hit me in the mouth.

Nico was sitting on the low brick wall at the edge with his coat open, looking at the lights of Newark across the river.

His cheek had swollen into a purple crescent.

"I told you to get out," I said.

"I did."

"You're on the roof of the same building."

"It's the only exit you didn't use."

I stood beside him.

The wind took my hair across my face, and he reached up and tucked it behind my ear before he knew he was doing it.

His knuckles brushed my jaw.

We both stopped.

"You do what I say," I said, low. "That was your rule. For one night."

"It's been three nights."

"Then say something."

"Elena."

"Say it. You're the one who gives orders."

He turned his head, and the streetlight caught the bruise.

"Go back downstairs," Nico said hoarsely.

"No."

"Go back down."

"Make me."

I sat down on his knee and took his face in both hands.

The tape over my palms scraped his stubble.

He made a sound I had never heard from him, low in his chest, and his hands closed on my waist and held me away.

For one moment we looked at each other.

"I carried that cooler," he said. "You hate me."

"I do."

"You should."

"I know."

I kissed him.

It was not gentle.

It tasted of cold air and blood from his split lip, and I bit the lip because I wanted him to feel it.

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