Prologue
Wednesday, 29th May 2024
I thrived on people's sympathy.
Thrived on telling them my sob story, like I was reading a paragraph of the textbook my teacher told me to read out loud in class.
Monotone and emotionless most of the time.
But when I needed that extra kick—the extra shock to my heart to get it beating again—my voice would quiver, my lips tremble, and my eyes would glitter with that sheen of moisture.
Sometimes I couldn't tell if any of my reactions were real. I had gotten so used to feeling numb that I couldn't tell reality apart from pretend anymore.
I was living, and I could do that without dwelling on those pointless thoughts—at least that's what I kept repeating to myself like a mantra.
And after robotically listing up all of the things that happened to me—the list was long and just kept getting longer—I would patiently wait for the horror to hit their faces.
It made me feel things.
It sated my hunger.
The reason?
Even if it was only briefly—for a couple of days at max—the vision of sympathy made me feel like I wasn't to be blamed for the shit I had done to myself.
It made me feel like I wasn't a bad person.
Because even though I went on with my day pretending, not letting anyone see the invisible weights I was carrying on my shoulders...every once in a while, I needed a break.
Just so I could keep going again—function without collapsing.
My family deserved better.
My friends deserved better.
I was far from the person I aspired to be, and if I could just hold onto these small reasons for why I had turned out this way, maybe I could claw my way to the surface again.
Dad always liked to tell me that there were a million ways to get to the destination. That if one thing didn't work out, I just had to get my shit together and try again—just a little differently this time.
But you're a bad seed.
That damn voice in my head.
You won't grow any differently just because you decide to water yourself more often this time around.
No.
No matter how careful you are, the outcome is always going to be the same.
No.
People make mistakes. But people also learn from said mistakes and grow from them. I can grow. I can change and be better.
I just need to stay away this time.
I can start over.
Just like you tried to do before he got to you again? How many times have you tried to start over? Get away?
Stop it.
They're all going to get tired of listening to you. You promised them you would do better. They're going to leave you.
Please stop it.
You do all of these things without thinking about the consequences—act based on how you feel. And when it's all over, you drown yourself in the aftermath of your bad decisions.
"Stop it!" I scream, my fist flying into the mirror in front of me. The image of my reflection shatters into a million pieces. For a second, I smile in relief.
And then the pain hits.
Gasping, I pull back my injured hand, cradling it to myself. Unfallen tears coat my eyelashes as I try to hold the fist under cold water to make the sting go away.
I watch in fascination as the blood washes away.
The mocking voices are gone, but now I can't help but ask myself the question over and over again.
Why did I do it?
I had promised myself and them that I would do better—believed it too—just to fail again. That feeling of self-hate curls its way around my vessels.
"Why?" I whisper into the room. My body collides with the floor in a heap of tangled mess.
I force the questions away—strangle them bloody in my mind—before I try to focus on reality again.
This only happened when I was alone.
When I was around people, the voices mostly vanished. I would hyperfixate on whoever was with me, so nothing could pull me back into the vortex that I called my mind.
Picking up my phone, I click into the stupid app. Indeed, no matter how many times I look at it, I see that the message has been sent to him.
And that he has opened the snap.
3 hours ago.
If I had woken up a little more than 3 hours ago, I could have deleted the picture. Then I could have avoided feeling like this.
Slut
Whore
Desperate bitch
Attention seeker
Throwing my phone into a corner, I try to keep my tears at bay as I cover my body up with the zip-up I am wearing.
What am I doing?
What the hell am I doing?
This is not the person I want to be.
I can't keep doing this to myself.
I have to stop before I end up killing myself in the process.
I suddenly feel sick, quickly hurrying over to the toilet bowl to let out all the contents in my stomach from yesterday. My hands are gripping the seats so hard my knuckles turn white.
And when I finally feel like there is nothing left, I lean against the wall next to the toilet, trying to force myself to regulate my breathing again.
Try to stop thinking.
But I can't.
What must he think of me now? Does he think I am disgusting, too? Like, I think of myself?
Gabryn is Dane's best friend.
Someone who had been at our house a handful of times. I had ogled him, crushed on him.
He had been a nice distraction.
I didn't need to fuck to distract myself, no matter how much I dreamed of a fucking proper release.
No, I just needed small temporary obsessions that I could mull over until I had to face Cole's wrath again.
I had to say that he had intrigued me by not as much sparing me a glance the few times he had come over.
I liked the attention, the validation.
And I hated it when someone didn't give it to me.
I'd resorted to deciding that he wasn't worth my attention. That I did not like him. Anyone who couldn't validate my desperate attempts at making me feel like I was worth something could fuck off for all I cared.
I know he didn't owe me shit.
But it was the only way I could cope. Even though there was a logical side of me that knew that not everyone would just want me, the fucked up voice in my brain never settled at the thought of someone finding me unworthy of their attention.
I hadn't cared about moving in with him and my brother. Except for his jet black hair, pretty eyes framed by thick lashes, and hot as sin fucking body, there was nothing about him worth remembering.
Those are three reasons.
Shut up, I command.
He looked hotter than average men in Lindfell. No wonder my eyes had thirsted for him. Maybe the men in Halveth would make me feel something, too.
It couldn't just be him.
Or maybe it was something about to unattainable that made it so much more attractive. I loved the chase. Sadly, I always got bored after I had them right where I wanted them.
He is probably laughing at you right now. Thinking you're pathetic.
"No," I deny out loud.
I had been drunk.
I had never wanted to stoop so low to get Cole's attention. But his absence had made me desperate. I wanted him to look at me again. Tell me I meant everything, that he hadn't meant to leave me. Tell me, he would kill anyone who laid their hands on me.
I wanted him to possess me.
He hadn't talked to me in weeks after I had blown up at him. I had been so angry. So furious. The last line I had told him was that he must have done something wonderful in his past to deserve someone like me, and I must have done something horrible to have met someone like him.
That was just the last line of a 10-page essay he most probably had just skimmed over.
But I had felt good afterwards. Like I had gained back some control.
My warrior girl, Jade, had called me.
It had all come crashing down the moment he had sent me a voice note, crying. Saying I had broken his heart.
It had taken me approximately 1 hour to start feeling like shit. Wonder if he was hurting himself again. Wonder if he wasn't ok. Wonder if I had gone too far when in fact he deserved hell.
And then there were waves of guilt.
I had hurt him again. I was a monster. I was supposed to walk away, but instead I had stayed and gone crazy the moment he had done exactly what I had predicted he would.
I knew this would happen when we got back together again.
I knew.
Getting back with him was a disaster waiting to happen. But I had still fallen for the trap.
And now I was back there. On my knees for him again. Chained up....
A bug at the bottom of his shoe, that willingly always crawled back with a big fat red neon sign that read: step on me.
And I was slowly starting to lose hope that I could ever get away.
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