Page 65 of Ravage

Footsteps come closer until the bed dips with Damon's weight. He pushes himself back against the wall, stretching his legs out next to me.

I'm thankful for him—for not laughing at me or telling me that I'm ridiculous.

Why is it that the night makes it harder to hide our vulnerability? During the day, it's easy to pretend we are okay. There's something about shadows and exhaustion that make it that much harder to fight away the demons.

"What's wrong?" Damon asks. It's softly spoken, a genuine question.

"I don't know how to deal with myself," I admit. "I feel fine, but every now and again, I'm… not. I hate being alone."

"It's easier to distract yourself when surrounded by others," he says, summing it up perfectly.

I nod, my head brushing against the wall. "Exactly. It was so quiet down there. It felt like time didn't exist—it was just separated into being a test subject or being alone. But even though being alone was better, I was in constant fear that they would return at any moment. And now that's all I can think about."

"You're not alone. We're always nearby," he answers. "We won't let them near you again."

"I know. I just keep waiting, expecting them to come back. It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the drop."

Something brushes against my hand, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it's his. He doesn't grab it, but our hands rest against each other, touching slightly.

"That's survival mode," Damon points out. "You're running on adrenaline."

"I know he's dead," I whisper. "But the rest aren't. I just can't afford to crack right now."

"Avery," he says firmly. "I promise they won't put their hands on you again."

Taking a deep breath, I lift my hand, placing it on top of his. I half-expect him to move or recoil, but he doesn't, his knuckles warm under my palm. "I know," I reply. "It's just going to take time."

Dr. Smith's words come back to me. I can't help but wonder if the bucket is nearly full. But for whatever reason, the shaking stops for the rest of the night.

I must fall asleep at some stage because when I wake up, the sun is shining through the window, and the only sign of Damon is the faint lingering scent of him on my bed.

Chapter 23

Theo

"Keep still," I growl at Avery. She tilts her head back, peering at me through her lashes.

"It's not that easy," she shoots back, ignoring my scowl.

When we came into the library at the start of free time, her eyes lit up at the sight of the tattoo kit. But even though she begged me to do a new tattoo on her, apparently it'smyfault for not warning her that it was going to hurt like a bitch.

That's generally the case with rib cages. I don't make the rules.

Grey is perched by her knees, munching on a chocolate bar that he whipped out of nowhere. He gives her knees a playful slap. "It's going to be all wonky if you don't control yourself."

"It fucking hurts," she hisses, covering her eyes with her forearm.

"I know," Grey says. "I have the same placement. Suck it up."

Avery grumbles something to herself and I resist the urge to laugh. That was the exact reason she opted to have a tattoo on the side of her torso—because Grey and I both have one there too.

"Love is pain," I tell her, pressing my hand against her waist to steady her. "The sooner you keep still, the sooner it will be over."

Her body stills and I quickly resume before she starts moving like a drunk octopus again. Grey pats her knee in a soothing gesture, watching the needle closely.

"You're doing well. Hang in there," he says encouragingly.

She mumbles something against her arm that sounds oddly like'fuck my life'but I keep going. As I start to move over a bonier part of her torso, she tenses up. I have to hand it to her—she's fighting the urge to move.

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