1. Sina
Three years later
“Bend over for me, baby,” John cooed.
Was his name John?
The fuck if I knew. Nor did I care. Every one of my hookups was named John in my eyes.
Men were all the same.
I don’t know how or why I get myself into these situations. Liar . This was self sabotage at its finest. I'd do anything to avoid my feelings.
Dr. Bloom was moving his practice, and group therapy started tomorrow.
And this was how I chose to handle him abandoning me.
By blowing up my own life before anyone else could.
By seducing an asshole in a dive bar. Skirt shoved up to my hips, waiting for him to put on a condom and fuck me in a shitty bathroom.
Scumbag John had a perfectly good girlfriend out there who, by now, was probably looking for him. But he was cocky enough to think he wouldn’t get caught. Stupid , really, especially since my coworker Danielle would most likely point his girlfriend in our direction . And soon too.
How did I know?
This wasn’t the first time over the last year I’d hooked up with some rando while on the clock. Hopefully I didn’t get fired from Jack’s Bar. I needed this job. I should’ve considered that, but I never did.
That was always future Sina’s problem.
To be fair, this hookup wasn’t planned.
I’d had a shitty week and impulse issues won out.
At least that’s what Dr. Bloom said anytime I admitted to my many sexcapades.
I despised men like John—men who treated women like objects—and I wanted him to pay for being a scummy boyfriend.
Getting caught for being a cheater was the real motivator here.
Bonus points if he could give me a few minutes of pleasure.
Hey. I never claimed to be mentally stable.
I closed my eyes as the tip of him slid between my thighs. I arched back into him. He moaned as he notched his puny dick as far as he could inside, hips firm against me, and… nothing . No delicious stretch. No pressure deep inside me.
Really? That was it?
Disappointing.
I could hardly feel him. I grunted, pushing my ass back against him, hunting for friction, his hairy-ass legs rubbing the backs of mine in the process. I bit back a snarl-gag combo and growled out my frustration.
God, this fucker was disgusting.
How or why I was letting him touch me was beyond me.
“That’s it, baby. You like that?”
I rolled my eyes but moaned along anyway, feeding his ego because there was no way he was going to get me off.
Waste. Of. Fucking. Time.
He slapped my ass, grunting something else in my ear.
I bit back my retort, ignoring the persistent urge to punch him in the balls, and pushed harder against his cock instead.
My hands braced on the stall door as he messily pounded into me, skin slapping skin in the cramped space.
His warm breath ghosted across my heated skin as he moaned like he was doing something impressive.
Scotch and musk filled my nose. Sour. I forced myself to breathe through my mouth so I didn’t have to smell him.
I hadn’t had enough alcohol for this lousy lay.
“You like that, pretty girl?”
“Ew. Shut up,” I snarled under my breath, losing my patience .
Being called gorgeous, pretty, or any other word men used to describe my looks wasn’t the compliment they thought it was. Being pretty hadn’t done me any favors. In fact, it had done the exact opposite.
It had caused pain. Misery. Loneliness.
Beauty came with wandering eyes and groping fingers from men who only wanted something from me. To use me. Then discard me. Move on to the next pretty thing they became infatuated with.
Other women hated me for it, jealous, they thought I was lucky.
They envied the attention I got from monstrous men who took too much and didn’t take no for an answer.
Being plain would be easier. They had no idea what happened behind closed doors.
I’d give anything for them not to notice me.
I probably wouldn’t be so fucked in the head if I hadn’t been treated that way, by my ex-husband no less.
It was why I constantly found myself in compromising positions like this one. Fucking men like John was how I took back a little of my power.
“Hurry up, John,” I hissed.
“My name’s not John.”
“Don’t care.”
He laughed breathily.
Not-John’s fingers dug into my hips as he took his pleasure from my cunt, driving into me harder and faster.
He didn’t care if he hurt me or if I got off.
He only cared about his own selfish release, which was fine by me.
The sooner he finished, the better. He roared, hips slapping against my ass one last time.
“Fucking finally.”
“What?” he asked as he pulled out, tossing the condom into the toilet.
“Nothing. ”
I smiled sweetly, using my shoe to flush before fixing my skirt quickly. His girlfriend would be storming through the bathroom any second, and the last thing I wanted was my ass out.
Right on cue, the stall banged open and an angry blonde screamed. I flinched at the shrill sound even as my smile grew. Yep . I was getting too good at predicting when the girlfriends would show up.
“Roger! What the fuck are you doing?”
Oh yeah. That was his name. The pretty blonde’s face went from shock to fury in a flash. I smirked with pure satisfaction.
While they bickered, I slipped past them to the mirror, primping my auburn ponytail and making sure my switchblade was still tucked between my breasts.
I never went anywhere without it.
“Baby, it’s not what it looks like! She seduced me,” Roger protested.
Her gaze landed on me through the reflection, lip curling in disgust.
I mean , he’s not wrong . I totally did seduce him. The way he stared at every other woman in this bar, including Danielle, I knew he wouldn’t need much convincing. Sue me. I loved cheap thrills.
Probably why I’m still in therapy, or was, until Bloom decided to leave me.
Crack.
I reared back like I was the one who had been slapped.
I smothered my laugh as a red handprint bloomed across his cheek. She slapped the shit out of him.
Five points for blondie.
John fumbled with his pants, tripping over himself as he tried to talk his way out of this one. Whatever lame-ass excuse he was giving her, I had no idea. I tuned out their bickering. I needed to get back to work, but I knew better than to leave a lovers’ quarrel without supervision .
Some men—if you could even call them men—could get a bit handsy when their girls found out just how disgusting they were.
I wished they’d hurry up. I’d been gone a while, and the last thing I needed was Jackson sending Danielle after me or worse, looking for me himself.
Anything to avoid that awkward moment when he realized what I did on his dime, but mostly because Danielle was ass over tits for him.
And I refused to make her think I wanted Jack.
Pretty soon the blonde was done crying. Her gaze met mine in the mirror again, mascara streaking down her reddened face.
She narrowed her eyes like she wanted to tell me to fuck off too.
It wouldn’t be the first time a girlfriend tried to fight me.
Instead, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and stormed out of the bathroom with not-John scrambling after her.
“Pathetic,” I muttered to myself, though I’m not much better, am I? At least she knew her boyfriend was a slimeball cheater and a two-pump chump. Good riddance to his hairy-ass thighs.
I shivered with disgust.
Though why I didn’t think I deserved better too wasn’t something I wanted to psychoanalyze right now.
I chuckled darkly. I definitely needed another session with my shrink.
Dr. Bloom did not approve of this particular coping mechanism.
He’d call it self-sabotage wrapped in thrill seeking or something else dramatic.
He always had a term for the chaos I found myself in.
My smile slipped.
Too bad he’d handed me off to a room full of strangers starting tomorrow. I knew I couldn't keep doing this. The truth was, the chaos worked to keep my dark thoughts at bay… until it didn’t.
The fluorescent light above me buzzed louder, drilling straight into my skull. My head went cottony, like I’d stepped half an inch outside my body and forgotten how to get back. I recognized the feeling immediately .
Panic.
I squeezed my eyes shut, nails digging into porcelain.
Logan didn’t own me anymore. He was dead.
His own brother had killed him. Keith had slit Logan’s throat and watched him bleed out on the basement floor, all so he could have me for himself.
Being shared between them wasn’t enough for Keith anymore, so he removed the competition.
Bile rose in the back of my throat as I remembered how warm Logan’s blood had been. The taste of it at the back of my mouth as I screamed in terror. I shook my head roughly, like it might dislodge the memory from my brain. Keith haunted my nightmares, tormenting me even in my own thoughts.
“Fuck, Sina. Get it together,” I murmured into the quiet bathroom.
I glanced down at the white, jagged scars lining my wrists.
I’d tried to end it before he could claim me.
I’d rather die than let Keith touch me again.
But I hadn’t cut quite deep enough to truly end it.
It had been close, but paramedics had resuscitated me, and I hadn’t had the gall to try again since.
The metal handle of my knife beneath my shirt practically burned where it sat. Taunting me. Maybe one day I’d be strong enough to end my misery. I was so fucking tired of looking over my shoulder. Even a year later, I still felt like he was watching me from the shadows. The feeling never eased.
I sucked in a sharp breath and forced the image down where it belonged. Logan was dead. And Keith hadn’t found me.
The panic didn't ease.
Pressure built behind my eyes and slid into my chest, squeezing tight until every breath felt too small. I forced myself to breathe the way Bloom taught me. Slow. Measured. I counted it out in my head until the edges of the room stopped tilting .
Gradually, the mirror sharpened. The woman staring back looked pale, her green eyes glossy. I gripped the edge of the sink until the trembling eased.
I didn’t know why I thought using a man as a Band-Aid would help me cope. All I did was rip it right the fuck back off the second Keith surfaced in my head—and now I felt worse than before. I seriously needed better coping mechanisms than screwing some rando.
The truth was, Bloom wasn’t my shrink anymore.
And if group therapy didn’t work, the blade in my bra might.