Page 18 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

“Fine,” I spit. “If you don’t own me, then that’s exactly what you’re going to let me do.”

“Fine.” He stares me down, waiting for my next move, and even though it kills me inside, I step back and reach for the door so I can slam it in his face. My grip tightens against the heavy wood as my own self-loathing threatens to consume me. Because I can’t even slam a freaking door without drowning in my past.

A high-pitched scream claws its way up my throat before I slam the door in the opposite direction. Over and over again. The hinges groan in protest at the odd angle as the handle leaves a small scar in the drywall. Then I slide onto my butt and cry.

I’m so freaking broken.

“Q—”

“Just leave me alone,” I beg with my head in my hands. I can feel him watching me. “Go!”

The floor creaks as he walks away.

And all I’m left with is guilt.

He doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit. But he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand.

Or maybe he refuses to let me self-destruct the way I desperately want to.

A few minutes later, another soft knock echoes throughout the room. The hallway is empty except for a square of lasagna resting on a plate. It smells delicious, but it seems I’ve lost my appetite.

7

Q

I spend the next day in my room, unsure if I’m really allowed to explore the premises or if it’s a trap so Diece can have an excuse to punish me. A soft knock greets me in the evening, but when I dig up the courage to approach the hallway, only a plate of pasta can be found. Despite the flavorful marinara, it turns to sawdust as soon as it touches my tongue while my conversations with Diece play on a constant loop in my mind.

I really am weak. I’m letting Sei win. But how does he expect me to just…let my past go? Especially after everything I’ve been through. I can’t do that. But I also can’t drown in this hate anymore. It’s killing me.

And so are the nightmares.

“Please. Please, Sei. Don’t—”

“Come on, my pretty Peach. You love this game.”

“I-I don’t,” I cry, squirming away from him. “I don’t love it—”

“Then we’ll play it until you do.”

I wake up in a cold sweat, tangled in my sheets, as another sob escapes me.

Just a dream, Q. It’s just a dream, I remind myself, but it doesn’t make the feel of his knife scraping against my inner thighs go away.

Angrily, I wipe away the tears that stain my cheeks before my senses prickle with awareness. With my breath caught in my lungs, I scan the dark room and find a shadowed figure resting against the wall with a gun in his hand. My terror spikes before the moonlight from the window kisses his handsome features.

It’s Diece.

“W-what are you doing here?” My voice is rusty from sleep. Or maybe it’s from my screams. Regardless, I watch him carefully and wait for his response. He looks tired. Worn down. Like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

His sigh is filled with a sadness that makes my chest ache. But there isn’t resentment or pity that weaves its way into his resignation. Just…sadness.

For me.

For what I’ve been through.

For the nightmares that won’t go away.

“Get some sleep, Q,” he tells me before resting his head against the wall behind him. “I won’t let the monsters get you.”

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