Page 94 of Crave Me

Unable to resist the temptation, I open the file with shaky hands and my mouth drops open as the preview of each item loads. I click open the first item, my parent’s arrest record, making me a ward of the state. The next is a statement from the teacher who noticed the bruises on me. I click to the next, my hands shaking like a leaf, my mouth dry as the Sahara. It’s a photo of my face at 17, bruised eye and cheek, cut lip. My eyes are withdrawn, sunken in, with no life behind them. A tear drops from my face onto the top of my hand that hovers over the trackpad. The third file, the police report detailing the sexual and physical abuse, the neglect. The fourth, a hospital report detailing the rape kit results, std and pregnancy screening, and injuries. More photos—the bruises around my wrists and hips. The file is large, extensive, and incredibly thorough. I click through rapidly as the tears cascade down my face. Dallas’ door opens then, and when he sees me his face falls.

“Baby, I can explain . . .”

“You aren’t even going to try to deny it?”

“I’m a lot of things, princess, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

He takes two hesitant steps in my direction and I stand.

“Aren’t you though?” I yell.

“It’s not what it looks like. I never?—”

“It’s exactly what it looks like! How long, Dallas? How long have you fucking had this?”

“Blaire, give me a chance to explain, dammit.” He steps toward me again, his hands extended outward in my direction like he’s reaching for me, pleading with his body language.

“You told me to trust you. You told me you’d protect me. You fucking told me you’d make sure no one would hurt me ever again. THIS,” I point to his computer, my voice raising, “this fucking hurts me!” I press a hand over my heart and one over my mouth, sobs racking my body. He rushes to me, his arms surrounding me, pulling me into his firm chest. I breathe him in deeply before shoving him off me with all my strength.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare fucking touch me, Dallas. You just couldn’t help yourself, huh? Couldn’t stand that I had secrets, you just had to go and dig them up. Because you’re a selfish dick. Whatever this is”—I wave between us, his eyes empty and defeated, scared and lost—“this is over. We’re done.”

“Baby, I promise I never opened it. Sit your ass down and let me explain why I have it in the first place.”

“Fuck you, Dallas. Save it.”

I move past him to leave his office, tears streaming down my face in an uncontrollable flow. His hand reaches out to grab me, but I jerk away.

“Blaire, sit the hell back down and let me explain.”

“I told you not to touch me. You lost that privilege. Remember what you said? I allow it to happen. I don’t anymore. I mean it, this is over. I’m done.”

I don’t look back at him as I race from his office down the hallway to my own, my heart shattered into a million pieces, every inhale like I’m breathing in shards of glass. I grab my purse and jacket and race out of the building to my car. The winter air freezes my wet face and I welcome the sting of pain it brings. I settle into my car, my hands shaking as I try to put the key into the ignition, dropping it several times before I’m able to focus and turn it over. The cold air from the ventsblasts my raw face as it works to warm up. My chest aches, the pressure becoming too much. I reverse out of my parking spot and see Dallas jogging my way, I throw it in to drive and step on the gas, spinning on the packed snow, salt, and gravel before straightening and driving away, leaving him standing in the middle of the road behind me.

My eyes fill with more tears, flooding them as I turn out of the long driveway and onto the winding mountain road that will take me away from this place. How could he do this? I opened up to him in my own way, on my own time. Did he already know? This whole time? So many questions rack my brain. He told me he used a private investigator when Ivy was back in town and in trouble, I bet that’s exactly what he did for me. But he had no right. That’s a complete invasion of my privacy. Fuck. Why? I thought he loved me, too. It felt like he loved me. I swear I fucking felt it! But now I know the hard truth of it all. He’s a fixer and I was just another damaged thing he could try to put back together.

I struggle to catch my breath and focus on the winding road in front of me. All of it was pity. Everything I knew would happen. His behavior was all out of pity. Poor Blaire and her tragic past, all alone with no family, no home, no one but herself to rely on.

“Aaaaahh!” I scream. “I am no one’s fucking pity project!”

I slam my hand on my steering wheel as my eyes squint and swell from the onslaught of tears. I wipe vigorously at my face.

I barely notice the blur of a white vehicle coming up fast from my left.

I barely feel the air being pushed from my lungs as my body jerks forward into the exploding airbag when I slam on my brakes.

I barely hear the sounds of my car screeching, the metal crunching.

I barely register the pain in my stomach and chest.

I barely see the snow or smoke.

And then there’s nothing at all.

Chapter Thirty-One

Dallas

My phone rings for the third time and I press ignore, wanting to sit and wallow in my own created misery. The look on her pretty face is on repeat—the fucking devastation, the shock, the heartbreak. She’ll never believe me or understand why I had it. Having no fucking idea how to fix this, I toss back a long pull from the whiskey bottle, not registering the burn. I know how skittish she can get, why the hell I kept that file is beyond me. I should have deleted it the moment it came in.

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