Page 112 of Stand: Part One
Hopeless and defeated, Jaden’s hazel eyes softened, her brow relaxing as she looked at me in a way I couldn’t discern.
Her tears continued to spill down her cheeks, but they didn’t deter her from reaching up and wrapping her hands around my forearm.
I loosened the grip of my fingers around her throat, the gesture encouraging her to surrender to my demands. Instead of pushing me away, her hands clutched me tightly, her thumb gently skimming along the inside of my arm, creating soothing little circles.
And then she opened her mouth and completely obliterated my soul.
“I love you.”
29
Power
Déjà vu was a strange feeling. It could never be explained or understood, yet just about every human on the planet experienced it on more than one occasion. It didn’t creep up on you. Didn’t warn you of its approach.
It just…happened.
Suddenly, you’re reliving unsolicited memories you don’t recognize. And even though you tell yourself that you can’t possibly know them, there’s no denying the taste of familiarity that clings to your tongue.
I could feel it happening again, the beginnings of my brain being warped by something dark and sinister. That magnetic pull that forced my mind to stretch in directions beyond its ability, spreading me so thin that even the shadows could bleed through.
I recalled the agony of my heart breaking into pieces all over again, but my heart couldn’t understand why it felt different this time. Somehow, that familiar crack went deeper than before, the fractured fragments carrying serrated edges that ripped and sawed their way through me.
It allowed for an unusual kind of pain to seep inside, filling in the gaps that tore past the healed residual scar tissue from before. And now, it had made a home for itself in the ugly new cavern it had constructed deep within my chest.
I remembered what it was like to feel dead inside. To watch my soul being dragged from my body and left out in the cold to rot, deteriorating right alongside my pride and dignity.
It was the aftermath of a ruthless execution conducted by three venomous little words slicing their way up my throat and severing all hope of revival.
Every time I was forced to give voice to them, another arrow pierced into my back. And I didn’t know how many I could take before the agony finally knocked me off my feet and sent me face-first into a delusion that would paralyze me forever.
I had to figure out a way to prevent those lies from taking root—from trapping me in a cage I wasn’t sure I could always convince myself didn’t actually exist.
God, I was so tired. So tired of having to refashion another set of armor to fight a new battle that would still leave me battered and bloodied in the end.
I had considered too many times what it would be like if I just gave in, if I just stopped fighting. And it was a hideous image. Because even if I did, I knew damn well I’d still be just as fucking miserable as I was now, if not worse.
Every time I thought about it, I could feel myself drowning in a tsunami of self-hatred, and I often wondered if dying would actually be easier than this.
I just didn’t want to be a prisoner of war anymore. It was fucking exhausting and it obviously showed, considering the odd look Sid was currently giving me as I sat on the medical table in his office.
“You look like shit, Jaden. I’ve never seen your neck this bruised before. What the hell did he do now?” he asked, his tone more than serious.
Besides almost kill me? I didn’t want to remember.
I rubbed my tired eyes with the palms of my hands. It was nine in the morning, and I wasn’t prepared for the looming interrogation that Sid would undoubtedly hassle me with.
Stalling, I glanced down at the medical tray containing all the necessary items for today’s procedure. My throat was still hurting too much to speak comfortably after Darren nearly choked the life right out of me.
“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you,” I murmured, my voice cracking as my eyes scanned over the syringe containing the anesthetic.
As grateful as I was that Darren was allowing my expiring birth control implant to be replaced with a new one, it was oddly suspicious. It had been over eight months since he had declared his intentions to get me pregnant, until a bullet to my ovary thwarted those plans. And now he was delaying it even more. Had he changed his mind?
Maybe he finally realized that a woman rife with psychological trauma didn’t make for a very suitable incubator for his offspring.
“Tell me what?” Sid asked warily, apprehension coating his voice.
I avoided his insistent gaze, preferring to focus on the subtle scratches in the medical tray, cataloging every instrument on display.
