Chapter 24
The Pre y
I wake up to the soft rustling of sheets and the faint scent of linen, the familiar weight of the firm mattress underneath me is pressing against my aching body. The pain pulls me out of the darkness, making me groan before I even open my eyes.
My ribs feel like they’ve been crushed, and my head pounds, the dull throb spreading through my skull, making every thought feel like it’s swimming through quicksand.
The room is completely dark, so it takes me a moment to remember where I am; Jack’s place. Safe. For now. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through my ribs, making me wince. I grit my teeth and swing my legs over the side of the bed, careful not to move too fast.
Every part of me feels bruised, broken, like a fragile thing barely holding together. My hands instinctively go to my hair, where the stitches tug uncomfortably at the back of my scalp. The memory of Michael slamming me into the floor rushes back, and I suck in a breath, forcing it down before I lose myself to it.
I need to clean up. I need to get this blood off me, this… feeling off me.
“Jack?” My voice comes out hoarse, weak. I try again, louder. “Jack? ”
A moment later, he’s at the door, his face drawn tight with concern, his eyes bloodshot as though he hasn’t slept. He stands there for a second, just looking at me, like he doesn’t know what to say. I’m not sure I do either.
“How long?” I croak.
His eyes soften. “It’s been almost two days, Rubes.”
Two days… but two days, what? Since the attack or since Nick was here? The questions swirl in my mind, and I don’t know why I’m not asking out loud. Well, it’s not as though it matters either way.
“I need a bath,” I whisper. My voice cracks, and the sound feels foreign, like it’s coming from someone else entirely. “Please… I just need a bath.”
He nods without a word and crosses the room. I hear the soft click of the bathroom light turning on, and the sound of water running fills the silence. It’s oddly comforting, like something normal in a sea of chaos.
When he comes back, his voice is gentle. “The tub’s ready. Can you stand?”
I nod, though I’m not sure I can. I try anyway, pushing myself off the bed, but my legs buckle beneath me. Jack catches me before I hit the floor, his hands firm but gentle under my arms.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, leading me slowly into the bathroom. He helps me sit on the edge of the tub, my body sinking against the cool tile, the steam from the water swirling around us.
“I’ll give you some privacy.” Jack hesitates, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment longer than necessary. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine,” I lie, forcing a weak smile.
He nods, his jaw tight. “I’ll get us some breakfast for when you get out,” he says before he leaves and closes the door behind him.
Okay, so I guess it’s morning. Instead of feeling some semblance of… I don’t know, but it should make me feel some kind of way to know the time, right? And I guess it does; frustrated. I’m frustrated at knowing I should be getting ready for class when I know I can’t go.
I take a deep breath and push myself to stand, fingers fumbling with the he m of my shirt. The pain makes me wince, but I grit my teeth and pull it over my head. I’ve had worse. The fabric clings to my skin, damp with sweat and blood. I let it fall to the floor before I step toward the mirror.
The reflection staring back at me is almost unrecognizable.
My face is swollen, my jaw a mess of purples and blues. One eye is half-shut, the skin around it tender and bruised. A split in my lower lip is dried with blood, and my hair—God, my hair.
As I twist like a contortionist, I get a glimpse of the way it clings to my scalp where the stitches are, an angry, jagged line across the back of my head. I raise a trembling hand, fingers gently probing the area, feeling the tightness of the skin pulled together. It doesn’t hurt, not as much as the rest of me, but it sends a shiver through me all the same.
I stare at the bite mark on my shoulder, the edges still distinct despite everything. Valentine’s bite. The one thing I should’ve been most concerned about before… all of this. Now, it’s just one more thing to hide.
I turn my head to the side, trying to imagine how I’ll cover it. My heart lurches as the question burrows into me, clawing its way under my skin. How will I explain this to Valentine? How will I keep him from seeing what Michael did to me?
A part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it—worrying about hiding this from him instead of how bad I look. Instead of the searing pain every breath brings, or the way my vision keeps swimming in and out of focus.
I strip the rest of my clothes off, each piece falling to the floor with a soft thud, until I’m standing there, naked, staring at a body that feels more broken than whole. My ribs are black and blue, the bruises running in sickening lines across my torso. My wrists bear the marks of Michael’s hands, red and angry. I touch them lightly, flinching at the memory of his grip.
Then I step into the bath, sinking slowly into the warm water, and let out a shuddering breath as it engulfs me. For a moment, the warmth soothes my skin; the steam filling my lungs with something other than fear. But the relief is fleeting. The water doesn’t wash away the horror. It can’ t touch the damage that only exists in my mind and fractured heart.
A sob tears its way out of my throat; it’s raw, guttural, and once it starts, there’s no holding it back. My hands clutch the sides of the tub as I scream, the sound echoing off the walls, bouncing back at me.
I scream until my throat burns, until no sound comes out. The tears come next, hot and unrelenting, streaming down my face, mixing with the water as I curl in on myself. If Jack hears me, he has enough sense to leave me alone.
It’s always the same, isn’t it? Every sliver of happiness, every fleeting moment where I think I might have something— someone —it comes at a price. And that price is always too close to being my life.
The curse. My family’s curse.
It’s not just the bruises or the stitches or the way my body aches like it’s been put through hell. It’s this endless, gnawing feeling that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to escape, it’s never enough. I’m never enough. Valentine was the only thing that felt like a chance at something real, something that wasn’t just survival. But even that... even that comes with a cost.
I close my eyes, my body trembling as the last of my sobs fade into the quiet hum of the bathroom. Maybe I’m cursed. Maybe this is what I deserve. But as the water grows cold around me, there’s one thought that keeps stabbing its way through the chaos.
How am I going to hide this from him?