Page 46 of Did They Break You

Please don’t say anything about it.

Please don’t say anything.

His jaw is clenched as he shifts his hold on the tray from the side opposite me, to my wrist. I suck in a breath as his thumb covers the wounds.

“Don’t touch me,” I plead, aware Maya is watching our entire encounter.

He strokes his thumb over the cuts, his touch gentle. His brows draw together. “Don’t do this again.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, Remi. Don’t?—”

“What did she do?” Maya asks, apparently not having seen what Cort did. Her voice sounds giddy with excitement. “What did the little freak do?”

Cortland brushes his thumb over my wound one more time, then straightens and drops his hand. He wraps his arm around Maya. “Nothing,” he says, locking eyes with me. “Let’s go?—”

“I want to know what she did,” Maya complains, her eyes sparking at the promise of my humiliation. “What did she do?”

Cortland rolls his eyes. “I said let’s go?—”

“No, I want to know what the little slut?—”

Cortland wraps his hand over her mouth, tugging her closer to his body. He looks down at Maya with a smile, but I can see it in his eyes. He’s not happy. “You sound like a cunt when you say things like that.” Then he spins her around, away from me.

I try to breathe. In. Out.In. Out.

He glances over his shoulder, his eyes finding mine. “And I don’t like cunts.”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

CORTLAND

Maya’s armsare around my neck, her thighs straddling me. I grip her neck, bite her bottom lip. She whimpers, pulling back, her hands on my chest.

“Don’t,” she says quietly, staring up at me through her long lashes. We’re both sweaty from our practices, and she walked back with me to the house. I only wanted her here to fuck her. I’ve avoided hanging out with her most of the week, but Fridays we have a class across the hall from one another that lets out at the same time.

Me, history for my undeclared major, and her, ethics, which is kind of fucking hilarious considering she’s the least ethical person I know. She’s still in her cheerleading skirt, orange and black for Ely’s colors, a tiger across her chest.

Her underwear is on the floor of my room, my door closed at her back.

“Don’t what?” I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Dad wants me over for dinner. Tristan’s texts have been despondent, and he’s not yet back in school. I don’t like him spending so much time alone, by himself.

I rush into the room at the hospital. Dad is coming as fast as he can.

Mom isn’t even here. She called 911, and she’s not here.She’s working.

Tristan is sipping from a straw, his face pale, but he grins at me when I walk in. Then he sees it.

The panic etched into my own face.

His expression falters.

He flips his arm over, so I can’t see the inside of his wrist.

His broken glasses are on the table he sets his drink on, refusing to meet my eye.

“I didn’t want to die,” he says softly, as if to reassure me.

I stop, a step into the sterile room with that medicinal smell every hospital on earth seems to have.

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