Page 188 of Did They Break You

He doesn’t look at me when he answers, dropping his hand. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

He spins around, his brows pulled together. “Why the fuck are you sorry?”

I blink at him, those words full of anger. “I…”

He drops his gaze, running his tongue over his lip ring. “I should be sorry. I thought you could handle this.”

I stiffen, my fingers clawing into my biceps. “What?” I whisper, an edge to that word.

He looks up, slipping his hands into his pockets, the veins in his forearms stark against his skin. “You’re clearly still healing.”

My muscles tense.

“I should’ve known better than to…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Maybe I should take you back.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I don’t know if I want to scream or cry. “Why are you doing this?”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t look up.

Something happened. That’s all I can think.Something happened.“Why the fuck are you doing this? What happened?” My voice rises with every question. “Is it Maya? She come over here and?—”

He looks up, his gaze narrowing. “I told you, Remi.I’m yours.”

I don’t know what to say, emotions welling up in my chest.

“But I think I should take you back. This was a bad idea.” He turns from me, headed to the door, flipping open the lock.

I hold my breath, hoping he won’t open it. Hoping he doesn’t mean it.

But then he pulls open the door, the cold night air flooding in, the porch light flicking on and illuminating his face as he looks at me over his shoulder.

I stare at the door, blinking past the angry tears in my eyes.

After a second, I turn, drop my hands, and slam my fist against the wall, rattling that picture harder.

Maybe he just wanted a midnight booty call, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it. I fought with my best friend. I’m lying to her for him. And I was sleeping—a rarity for me until he came along—and he had to pull me out of bed and drag me here so he could use me?

I run my hand through my hair, slap my palm against the wall harder but it isn’t enough. I spin around, see the table by the door with a ceramic bowl to put their keys in.

I think about the fact I’m going to see Silas tomorrow. He’s going to cut me down. He’s going to humiliate me, and I’m going to take it. Because that’s what I do.

A rag doll.

Cortland’s words come back to me.

A scream comes clawing its way up my throat as I slam my fist on that table, again and again, and again, enjoying the pain reverberating through my knuckles, the ceramic bowl wobbling as I do it. It feels good, making myself hurt again instead of letting everyone else do it for me.

I feel something warm on my skin as I crash my knuckles into the wood over and over. Blood.

The pain reminds me I survived.

That’s what we’re supposed to be called.Survivors.Notvictims.Fuckingsurvivors.Well fuck that. What’s the point of surviving if you just drown all over again? At every reminder? Every trigger? Every moment that takes you back to being a victim?

I hit the table over and over and over, more blood flecking across my pale skin with every hit.

Cortland says nothing. Does nothing.

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