Page 45 of Seeking Shadows

The slap of his voice is worse than the blows, but before I can choke out a response, his fist comes down again, a hammer against my skull.

"I don’t know!" The words are barely a whimper, thick and desperate, my voice cracking under the weight of the terror flooding my chest.

He sneers, his twisted grin sickening in the dim light. “You’re a freak. That’s why your own mother mistook you for one of her fucks—because you’re insignificant, nothing but a stain on the world.” His breath is hot against my ear as he spits out his words. "I’m gonna teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, you fucking waste of space."

I try to speak, but my throat is tight, a vice of fear squeezing the words out of me.

My chest heaves, but it's no use.

The blows come faster now, relentless, each one worse than the last.

Flesh cracks. Bone gives way.

The world spins, turning to flashes of red, of black. Pain, nothing but pain, every inch of my body screaming in agony.

I snap back with a jolt.

The broken glass is still there. Blood still drips from my hand. But the pain is different now.

Now, I’m no longer a kid getting beaten on some filthy apartment floor.

But for a moment—I was.

It’s just easy to forget about my past when it comes to Mia.

Because she’s kind, despite everything she’s been through. Because even with all the scars, she still smiles like the world hasn’t tried to crush her a hundred times over.

Because seeing how strong she is makes me want to be better, even when I don’t think I deserve it.

Because she’s the half I’m missing.

She doesn’t see the past as an anchor. She doesn’t flinch at the broken parts.

Instead, she reaches out—seeking the shadows I try to hide like they’re hers too.

And somehow, without even meaning to, she healed something in me.

Maybe that’s why I can’t let her go.

My breathing is still ragged. Blood still drips down my fingers. The mirror reflects a fractured image—holes in the glass, scattered shards, a face that looks just as lost as it does angry.

I grab a cloth, wrap it around my hand, and squeeze tight. The sharp sting keeps me grounded, keeps me in the present.

Then, the shrill ring of my phone cuts through the silence.

My body tenses.

The name flashing on the screen drags me back, yanks me out of the haze of anger and memories.

Charlie.

I close my eyes, exhaling hard before answering.

The phone keeps ringing. The cloth around my hand is already soaked red, but I pick up anyway.

"This isn't a good time, Charlie," I say, voice rougher than I’d like.

"Suck it up, Zane," she snaps. "I don’t care if you’re busy, or pissed off, or trying to play the mysterious guy. I need to talk to you. Now."

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