Page 72 of Dollhouse

No matter where they go, no matter what they do, they will burn.

They can run, but they can’t hide.

* * *

Sebastian preyed on my vulnerability,and I often wonder why I was never able to kill him. I could’ve so easily set our house on fire or killed him while he slept, yet I never could bring myself to go through with it.

In the beginning I felt safe with him, even when the abuse started, I still found ways to justify it because at the end of the day, he’d tell me that he loved me.

I had food to eat, a car to drive, and a fancy roof over my head. I told myself that’s all that mattered, and his abuse was worth it. I justified it in every single way possible. And now I’m worried that I’m letting my vulnerabilities be seen again and letting myself be lured into another false sense of security with these three. They want to know my secrets, yet they give nothing in return. I’ve been too desperate for someone to love me, to see me, that I let my guard down so easily.

You’d think after all I’ve experienced in my life, that I wouldn’t be so quick to trust.

The reality is I don’t know them. They’re strangers. They know so much about me, they know so many of my ugly past secrets, and I’m in the dark when it comes to them.

I can’t even tell you what they do for a living, or how they have nearly everyone in this city afraid of them.

As if sensing my negative thoughts, Rowen cups my face in his hands and presses a faint kiss to my lips. “Angel, talk to me,” he whispers against my mouth. I don’t answer right away. I’m trying to gather my thoughts.

I often have these moments. These episodes where I lose where I’m at because I’m getting swallowed up in a memory that becomes triggered by something small.

I hate that my mind does this. I want to turn my brain off and stop losing myself in memories. I don’t want to remember anything.

“Tate?” His fingers are trailing up and down my thighs, but I can’t feel his touch.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” I place my hands on his to still his movements. With my eyes never losing sight of my hands, I slowly take his right hand and slide it underneath my t-shirt and allow his palm to press against my stomach.

Against the stomach that has been home to three babies that were conceived in horrible situations.

“Talk to me, you got lost in your head just like you used to,” Rowen whispers.

Just like I used to.

Just like I still do and can’t stop.

Some people have anxiety attacks or blackouts; I have moments where I lose sense of reality and become engulfed so deeply in a memory that I forget everything else.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” My soft voice isn’t convincing, but I feel vulnerable right now and the last thing I want to do is express my feelings or let them see how damaged I truly am. Pressing a soft kiss against the corner of his lips, I climb off his lap and managed to successfully walk out of the office without looking back.

I’ve reached the kitchen when a hand grips my wrist and turns me around, arms wrapping around my body and holding me tightly against his chest in a suffocating hug.

Inhaling deeply, I allow myself a few seconds before I fight against his hold. “Rowen, please, I’m fine. I don’t want to talk.”

“You’re not fine, baby. Did you forget that I know you.” He lets me go, taking my face in his rough hands, brushing my hair behind my ears.

“No, you don’t. You knew me, and there’s a difference. You knew me thirteen years ago; you don’t know me now.” I pull away, I don’t want to be touched right now.

I can’t be touched right now.

His arms wrap around my body and I fight against his cobra grip. He’s keeping me pressed against his chest and forcing me to breathe in his intoxicating scent and feel the warmth of his body. I hate him.

“I do know you, T. Don’t pretend that I don’t.”

“No! You don’t! You knew Lee, and she’s dead. You don’t know me!” I yell, aware that King and Eli can likely hear me since the office isn’t that far away.

“You were thinking about something, tell me what it was. Whatever it was, it has you acting—"

“Like what?!” I cut him off before he can finish the sentence. “Like a crazy bitch?!” I pound at his chest, but he’s not loosening his grip on me. “I want to go home!” I scream in his face. I surely look like a fucking psycho having a meltdown like this. That’s how I feel at least.

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