31
Violet
I ’ ve witnessed my fair share of gore since arriving in America. I watched Blaze execute Damon, saw men bleeding out in his mansion after an ill-advised, failed raid, bullet holes in chests and heads. I lived beneath the same roof as killers and rapists and survived two shoot-outs. I’ve seen enough dead people, enough anger and carnage that nothing should faze me...
But watching the fury erupt in Broadway’s eyes when he realized why I’d slid from my seat, the intent to kill clear on his face... that fazed me.
In a very different way than expected.
The sudden surge of panic when I spotted Weston metamorphosed into awe. Butterflies took off in my stomach when Broadway flung the door open, marching toward one of the men responsible for my nightmares.
He wasn’t as cruel as some others, he wasn’t a long-distance runner either, but he was relentless and fucked me multiple times while I was there.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed watching Broadway stalking closer to Weston, every step long and angry. The good kind of adrenaline shouldn’t have flooded my system when he grabbed his head and snapped his neck.
God, there’s something wrong with me. Watching Broadway kill shouldn’t make me wet . But it does. A flood of heat slammed into me the moment Weston’s body hit the ground. I twist my fingers in my lap, let out a long, calming breath, and a part of the fear that’s been coiled inside me for months starts to fade. There were nine men who bought me, nine men who still haunt my nightmares.
I’ve been working through the trauma with Tom, but knowing those nine men are still out there keeps me from finding true peace. The fear that they might track me down and hurt me again makes me feel constantly threatened.
I didn’t think there was a way to eradicate that... but I was wrong. Watching Weston die, knowing he can never touch me again, healed something deep inside me. A scar, a mark left by that monster, faded. There are eight more left... and maybe, when they’re all gone, I’ll be whole again.
Broadway turns, his eyes finding mine from a distance and another wave of heat slams into me. We’ve been growing closer for months, from random chats every few days, to nights spent in his car, then living together, kissing, sleeping in the same bed...
I’ve never once felt threatened. What’s more, I catch myself seeking him out more and more often. Just knowing he’s around eased my anxiousness until it stopped.
The long sessions with Tom helped me work through the mental turmoil but Broadway did more than Tom ever could. He healed my emotions. Showed me there are good people in this world. Good men . Showed me I can trust him, and he won’t break that trust.
I doubt I could have progressed beyond cold acceptance without Broadway’s help. I doubt I’d have broken free from the limbo I was stuck in so long...
People recover from trauma at different paces. Some deal with their demons quickly, some take years, some don’t recover, the weight never leaving their shoulders. While I’m not healed , I’m on the right track to full recovery.
I don’t know how long it’ll take before I stop thinking about the past, but as I shift in my seat, rubbing my thighs together for friction, I’m positive that day will come.