Page 78 of Breaking You Open

“You heard me—leave.” I force my voice into a snarled growl—animalistic and terrible.

More than ever before, Sparrow looks like a frightened child, and with one last miserable look at me, he turns around and runs out of the bar.

Minutes pass of nothing but pain.

Then a weight lands on my shoulder.

Ravi’s hand.

Sparrow is gone, and Ravi is lucky my anger went with him. Otherwise, I would have sent him fucking flying. Instead, all I do is shrug his hand off and go get another drink. And another. And another.

Chapter 25

Sparrow

All this time, Ithought Louis was just hard on himself—overly critical of his violent ways—but turns out, there’s more truth in his warnings than I initially thought, and I feel so fucking stupid for not realizing it sooner.

It’s just like Lilith said: I’m too gullible for my own good. Too gullible to function. One might’ve thought my experience with Aaron would’ve made me more careful but apparently not. I was just soburstingwith the want for someone to take care of me that I was willing to ignore any red flags and charge right ahead to what I thought was safety.

But that safety doesn’t exist.

It’s like a veil has lifted, and I can now see the cliff I was standing on all along. And the impending darkness below. Should I fall in, I won’t be able to climb out of that darkness. Not on my own.

Eyes stinging with tears, I pass a man on the patio of Moe’s Den. He’s texting on his phone with one hand and holding a cigarette in the other.

“Can I have one?” I ask in a pitiful voice.

The man digs in his pocket, and I receive a cigarette along with his lighter. This time, I manage to light it myself, and acrid smoke fills my mouth and throat.Don’t cough. Don’t you dare fucking cough, I tell myself as I exhale and hand the lighter back with a small “thanks.”

On shaking legs, I make my way down the stairs and start walking. Where? I have no idea, and it doesn’t matter. I trudge along the side of the parking lot, gazing up at the darkened sky. It’s cloud-covered, as usual, and now more than ever, I find myself missing the scorching-hot sun of Arizona.

Maybe I should never have come here. Maybe I should have stayed with Aaron after all. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a future either way.

I suck on the cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply, letting it fill my lungs and poison my body to fit the state of my mind.

Why do I need these men to feel safe? Why do I need all this attention? It’s a shame I was never loved as a child. My adult self seems incapable of thinking I’m okay on my own, and so it will remain. I have no idea how to have a healthy relationship, and Louis apparently doesn’t either, but maybe I don’twantit to be healthy. Maybe I want to be used and stomped on. Maybe I want someone to slap my cheek and spit in my face…Maybe that’s what my twisted mind has equated with love, and what is so wrong with that?

Back at the bar, Louis made me feel like I was wrong for wanting him to take care of me, and maybe I was, but I don’tcareabout being wrong; I care about feelinggoodfor once, and all I know now is I feel fucking awful.

I sit down on a park bench by a patch of wood at the edge of the parking lot, the glow of the cigarette embers my only company.

At least, that’s until I hear footsteps approaching from my left.

For a split second, hope fills my chest. Is Louis coming to apologize? Is he coming to save me? The hope is so strong that I feel like I smell him. I even feel my cheek pressing into his soft, furry chest as his fingers rub my scalp…

But the silhouette coming toward me is too skinny to be Louis.

A young man in a dark hoodie approaches me with languid steps on the slick asphalt. He pulls the hoodie back to reveal short blond hair, a chin peppered with stubble, and light eyes glinting with malice.

Aaron.

Unlike at the rave, there’s no sense of unreality now. Only a deep weariness and—weirdly—relief.

I should run. I should attack him and shove him to the ground, snarling in my fury, my sadness, my grief.

But I don’t even get up from the bench. All I do is drop the cigarette, grind it to the ground with the sole of my shoe, and look up at him with tears in my eyes.

I wait for the stress response to kick in—for my adrenaline to take over and urge me to get away from this vile man who’s done me so much evil. But it doesn’t come. I’m tired to the very root of my bones, my innards squeezed to capacity, and there’s nothing I can do to relieve myself of my anguish.

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