Page 41 of Poison Vows

Emmett has made it clear that he doesn’t give a damn about feelings, let alone mine, so why hold on to him?

My body starts feeling feverish, but I don’t dare fold or crumble into a pile of broken pieces on the cold floor.

I did that already and all the times before in my life when my heart shattered.

Like when I saw Emmett kiss Astraea when we were seniors in high school.

And when Emmett ignored me. When he blamed me. And when Emmett rejected me over and over again.

All I did was cry.

But this is the last time I cry for that asshole.

I want him to feel what it feels like to suffer an ache that sinks into your skin, festers into the bone marrow over a long period of time that it feels like there’s no hope or a way out.

I want him to feel the poison of this unrequited love.

Men tend to have overcrowded hearts.

They want power, wealth, multiple women, envy from other men, being made to feel important and all that crap.

Never stay in overcrowded places, there’s no space for you there.

Rather than pining for him, I’m switching everything up.

Let’s see how he likes not getting the one thing he desires above all.

Revenge.

CHAPTER 6

Ivy

Holdingon to my newfound steely resolve, I take a long shower in a bathroom full of products that I love and use daily.

I have no idea how that bastard organized everything. He’s obviously a stalker with control issues!

So, I ignore it all and wash away the events of last night and earlier today, wincing at the soreness of my backside.

Unexpectedly, both my upper arms are sore and slightly itchy.

I have no idea what caused that, nor do I want to investigate it. I’m still traumatized over what happened to me last night.

I don’t want to remember the fear or how powerlessness I felt, let alone the horror of being assaulted.

But sometimes, controlling our minds iseasier said than done.

As if intending to torture me, my own mind blasts images of one brute, mountain of a man, carefully taking care of me by braiding my hair, cleaning me up, and rubbing my back when I threw up. And that was all before he took care of me in other ways… but I’m not going to dwell on that either.

What’s over is over. There’s no sense in going back and forth about that.

On the vanity, I find a luxurious-looking bruise ointment was left strategically by someone. I ignore who it might be and use it.

Leaving the bathroom, I come to a dead stop when I notice the huge rack of clothes displayed artfully and dominantly in the middle of the large bedroom.

Next to it are boxes upon boxes of obviously new shoes.

Not only that, there’s also a vanity table with LED lights around the mirror, filled with brand-new makeup, brushes, tools, skincare products, and even jewelry boxes on the counter.

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