Page 159 of Ruin My Life
The weight of it settles like concrete in my lungs.
He’s taking methere.
The place he’s protected with every secret he’s ever buried.
A place not even Monroe or Chavez knows exists.
A place that belongs to Damon’sreallife—the one he doesn’t talk about.
Of all people, why would he bringme?
After everything I’ve done…Iwouldn’t trust me enough to bring here.
I wasn’t expecting him to come looking for me—not in Staten Island. Not in that house. Not after I betrayed his trust and ran.
I understand now why he kept the truth about Alexander from me. I had begun to figure it out the moment I saw Xander’s face.
The logic of it all clicked the moment I watched The Speakeasy burst into flames.
But logic doesn’t untie a noose.
The need for revenge is like strangling yourself slowly. You keep pulling at the rope, hoping it’ll break. Hopingyou’llbreak. But the only real release comes when the rope snaps.
And itshouldhave snapped.
I killed Alexander. I put a bullet in the man who murdered my family. That should’ve been the moment the air returned to my lungs. That should’ve been the relief.
So why don’t I feel relieved?
If anything, I only feel worse.
Damon takes the exit for Point Judith. From here, he doesn’t follow the GPS anymore, which tells me he’s been here enough times to memorize the route. He buys a one-way ferry ticket to Block Island, and when the next boat docks, we drive onto the lower deck and park behind a few other vehicles.
Damon steps out first.
I follow only because I don’t want to be alone.
We climb the stairs to the upper deck. It’s nearly empty—off-season silence settling over the ferry like a sheet.
I find a bench and sit, curling into my trench coat. Damon leans forward against the railing, his back to me, shoulders squared against the wind. The waves slap the hull, grey and frothing like they’re trying to claw us under.
And I watch him—watch the man who’s offering me safety after I betrayed him. Who held me like I wasn’t already ruined from the start.
And I feel it again.
That guilt. Cold and gnawing.
If anyone else saw us like this—knew what I’d put him through—they’d probably assume he was taking me out to Block Island to kill me.
But he’s not.
He listened. Held me while I broke apart in the middle of my dead sister’s bloodstain. He told me I was fire and thorns and survival incarnate.
And I believed him. Not because I deserve to. Because Iwantedto.
But wanting doesn’t mean I’m worthy.
That’s the truth of it. I know for a fact I don’t deserve his protection. I never have.
