Page 57 of Did They Break You

Scars, too. Pale white, like ribbons.

She tries to yank her arm from my grip, but I circle my fingers tighter, not letting her go.

I’m running down the hall of the hospital.

I see him.

“Tristan?” I whisper in the room, scared to step closer to his bed. Scared his closed eyes and small body and pale skin means…

“Let go,” Remi whispers, and my eyes fly open.

I drop her hand like she burned me.

She looks at the marks on her arm, holding her hand above her head. Her brows pull together, like she’s confused on how they got there.

Then she darts a shy glance my way.

I hold my breath, waiting.

But instead of saying anything, she just brings her hand back to her breasts, letting her eyes flutter closed as she massages herself.

My heart is racing, and my blood heats.

I should get the fuck out and shut the door and sleep downstairs.

I should take her ass home.

She’s fucked up.

In more ways than one.

Butso am I.

You did that to me, Remi.

I take a breath, debating. I cornered her in the woods, chased her to the bathroom. Meant to scare her. To make sure she doesn’t fuck with us. Make a big scene or start some petition to get me thrown off the team.

But why did I intervene when I saw her in the bushes tonight? Maya could’ve showed up at anytime. Could have seen me leave with her.

I didn’t give a fuck.

Now what?

“I’m just going to take off your pants, Rems, okay?” I ask her quietly. Her eyes are still closed, her head angled toward the headboard. Her hands go still on her breasts.

“Okay,” she says softly, barely a word at all. Just a breath.

Intoxicated peoplecanconsent in North Carolina, as long as they’re voluntarily drunk. I learned all of that last year. She’s underage, which is a crime for her, but it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t give her a drink.

She’s not unconscious.

And I’m just taking her pants off.

I step forward, my thighs hitting the bed, then I slip her button free on her jeans. My fingers tremble as my knuckles graze her bare skin, but I’m thankful her hands are still covering her tits.

Even if it kind of makes it all hotter.

I pull down her zipper, then tug on the waistband of her jeans. Inch by inch, I see her toned thighs, a few freckles along her white skin. She shifts her hips to help me pull her pants all the way down, and I force myself to focus on her knees, her calves, her ankles. Not her black, silk underwear.

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