“I’m not eating anything you bring me,” I say hoarsely.
Devin startles, shock flashing across his face before concern rushes in to replace it, and he steps closer despite himself.
“Bella, stop,” he says urgently, “you’re going to make yourself sicker.”
“I’m already sick,” I reply, my voice trembling now with the effort of holding myself upright, “because of you.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. “I’m trying to help you.”
“No,” I say, the word sharp and final, “you’re trying to control me.”
“That’s not fair,” he protests.
“Fair,” I laugh bitterly, “you kidnapped me, drugged me, and chained me to silver, and you want to talk about fair.”
He looks away, jaw clenched, and for a moment I think I see doubt flicker there, but it hardens quickly into resolve.
“You do
