Page 73 of On Thin Ice

I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t survive another round tonight.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, then flopped back against the mattress. The ceiling spun above me, dizziness blurring my vision.

I needed to get my shit together.

Needed to find a hotel.

A shitty motel.

A fucking park bench.

Anywhere but here.

I would’ve given him everything.

The thought hit me so hard that it felt like a physical blow.

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in my throat, and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to block out all my pain. Trying to make sense of it.

Why? Why had he done this to me?

I’d asked myself that before, once. A lifetime ago.

And the answer had destroyed me back then, too.

The memory slammed into me unwanted and unwelcome, like it had just been waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to strike, its claws sinking deep into the scar tissue I pretended had healed over completely.

I was fourteen again, standing in the middle of the living room, tears streaming down my face, begging my parents to tell me why.

“Why are you doing this?” I sobbed, my whole body shaking. “Why can’t you just love me?”

My father’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Because you’re sick,” he spat. “Because you’re not the son I raised. You’re weak. You’re soft. You’re wrong.”

My mother just sat there, staring at her hands like if she didn’t look at me, I might disappear.

“You’re a disappointment,” my father continued coldly. “An embarrassment.”

I remembered the way the walls had closed in. The way the air felt too thick to breathe. The way my chest ached so bad, I thought it might actually split open.

I shoved the memory away with a violence that made my stomach turn.

I wasn’t that kid anymore. But right now, it sure as hell felt like I was.

Logically, I knew this wasn’t the same. Ethan wasn’t my father. He wasn’t sitting me down and telling me I was an abomination. He wasn’t sending me away to be “fixed.”

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter.

The way Ethan had looked right through me tonight felt exactly the same.

The hurt whispered that I wasn’t enough. That I’d never be enough.

Not for them.

Not for him.

Not for anyone.

I rolled onto my side, curling in on myself, my whole body shaking with the force of trying to hold myself together.

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