Page 37 of Worth

Why am I such a coward?

Why hadn’t I run away the second Mom died?

Why hadn’t I fought Damien harder?

Why hadn’t I figured out how to escape sooner?

It’s everything I have experienced; everything I have been through; and the unfairness of it explodes through me. The death of my neglectful, sellout mother. Stephen and Mordecai. The auction. The repeated abuse. The lips and tongues and clammy hands. The scars littering my skin. The lonely solitude during the day, if only to wish for it again every night. The bindings that had burned my wrists for hours.

I feel like I’m being ripped apart. Shame and guilt pull at my stomach. Anger and frustration tear at my chest. Or maybe that part had been my hands? Because I have socks taped to them after Aiden and Zander had forced me to quit clawing at myself.

There, in the midst of all that pain, is that last littleWhy.

Why can’t I just die?

All theWhysbuilding up in me, and threatening to spill over, have broken the dam.WhysI never asked of myself because I couldn’t face what it meant to answer them.WhysI purposely ignored because I didn’t want to think about what it would mean to confront them. Because they are theWhysthat point the finger of blame at me every time.

They are theWhysthat slam into me like tidal waves with their truth.

And the truth is: I didn’t escape any-goddamn-thing. I can put Damien in a grave one day, but the terrifying thing is, he has burned himself into the very consciousness of my being.

And that is the most soul crushing realization I’ve ever had.

I’ve been readingTo Kill A Mockingbirdfor three damn days now and Blake is still intent on fading away.

Her face, which had filled out quickly with her change in diet, is as gaunt as it was when Aiden first dragged her here. She looks like shit and it’s starting to piss me off that she’s wasting the opportunity she has. Does she think she’s the only one who’s survived horrors?

I snap the book closed and Blake slides her attention to me halfheartedly. We stare at one another. “You need to get up,” I say finally. “Now. You need to get up now.”

When she doesn’t answer, I slam my fist down on the little table next to the bed, making the lamp teeter back and forth. She jolts, her eyes widening an increment at my outburst.

“Get out of that bed, Blake,” I demand. “Time to quit feeling sorry for yourself.”

There’s a flash of fury in Blake’s eyes at my words. It dissipates before it can take root, leaving her lifeless again. I hear footsteps rushing up the stairs as Aiden hurries this way.

“Babying you isn’t working,” I growl. “Maybe this will.”

Aiden bursts through the open doorway just as I catch Blake by the wrists and yank her off the bed. She stumbles, but finds her footing, shock written across her face. I pin both wrists in one of my hands.

“Zander,” Aiden snarls, charging towards us.

I throw out a hand without looking away from her, not knowing if Aiden will listen because it involves Blake. But he does, stopping next to us, his pupils blown wide with anger.

“Get up. Stop moping. Face what happened.”

“Zander,” Aiden hisses.

I ignore him and release Blake’s wrists. “Get up,” I insist when she staggers sideways without me to hold her up. “Otherwise, you’re as useless here as you were as Damien’s little pet.”

The flash of fury from a moment ago is an inferno within her expression now. A grim sort of satisfaction rolls through me at the sight of her spine snapping straight, her shoulders tensing with an impending attack.

“You are not responsible for his depravity,” I say just before she can launch, and she sways a bit as she pauses. “You’re not responsible for not having a choice. Youareresponsible for how you choose to deal with it now. You can play the victim and let all the fuckheads who screwed you over win by trapping you in your own head. Or, you can choose to get your ass up, find a purpose, and take back your goddamn dignity.”

Blake closes her eyes, squinching them up tight, like it’ll prevent my words from hitting home. Aiden steps toward her but stops before he touches her, reading her body language like it’s a giant neon sign and hovering worse than any mother hen.

“You spent years wasting away in a bed. Aren’t you tired of keepingyourselfin one?” I challenge.

The change that overcomes her within seconds is nearly jaw dropping. Her eyes flash open, latching onto mine once more with a sort of comprehension that had been missing just moments ago. Shoulders back, she stands taller, her jaw setting in a way that looks hell-bent. Idly, I wonder how murderous she is feeling, and if that determination is for my blood. But she peels her attention from me, turning her head to look straight on at Aiden.

---