Page 61 of Ruin My Life
Justfive more minutes.
The tears flow quietly this time, slipping from the corners of my eyes, soaking into the sheets.
I need to find the ones who did this. Fast.
And I’m going to have to do it without the leverage Damon King could have given me.
IDON’T KNOWhow long I slept, but when I open my eyes again, it’s dark. Moonlight pours through the open curtains, draping everything in cold silver.
I force myself to sit up, even as every muscle aches and protests. My limbs feel too tight—like they’ve been wound up on a crank and left to seize and stiffen.
I doubt a hot shower would help. So I run a bath instead.
It feels bizarre—almost surreal—to reach for the Epsom salts and pour them into the tub like this is any other night. Like I didn’t nearly die less than twenty-four hours ago.
The scent of eucalyptus and spearmint rises from the steam—clean, sharp, and grounding. I lean into the strangecomfort of the routine and, just for the hell of it, add some rose-scented bubble bath.
Because, at this point, why not?
I rarely take baths anymore, but there was a time when they were part of my routine. Friday nights were sacred—spa nights with Mom and Amie. Sheet masks, fuzzy robes, enough scented lotion to make us shine like glazed donuts.
It was our little tradition. Our bubble of peace.
When I left for MIT, the ritual came with me. Fridays became bubble bath nights. A scented candle. A shitty romance novel.Peace.
When was the last time I’d done this?
Feels like it was part of another life. Anothergirl.
I step into the tub slowly, lowering myself until the hot water kisses every muscle like a soothing balm. The tub here isn’t as deep as the one back home. It’s a simple shower-tub combo shoved into an alcove, the overflow drain so low I can barely cover my shoulders.
Still, I sink in. Let the water hold me.
I close my eyes.
And immediately, I hear him.
If you don’t deliver what they want, someone will come knocking.
Damon’s voice seeps in like steam under a locked door—hot, inescapable, and everywhere at once.
You’d be safer here.
And the worst part? He’s probably right.
If he really meant what he said—if he’s not planning to kill me—then he has every reason to keep me alive. To protect what I know. To keep others from getting close enough to pry it out of me.
There’s no proof left. Lee watched me delete it all. But it’s in my head now. Etched into memory.
His friends. His secrets. That house in Rhode Island—and whoever lives there.
Heshould’vekilled me.
It was stupid not to.
And yet... I believe him. About the killing. About the line he won’t cross unless someonedeservesit.
Songbirds. Abusers. Monsters.
