Hearts Entangled In Winter’s Fury (Haunted Darkness Of Our Ruin #1)

Chapter 1 The Past

THE PAST

AMELIA’S brEAKING POINT

I grew sickly accustomed to the stench of liquor, its sour bite clinging to the air whenever my mother stumbled home.

In those nights, she became a stranger. Harsh, unpredictable, and so cold that I ached to flee her presence.

My stomach would clench before I even saw her, heart twitching like a trapped bird. She drifted from room to room in a glassy haze, muttering at empty chairs, and I felt my chest hollow out.

I wanted to vanish.

Sometimes that same stench trailed behind Caiden at school.

It hit me like a slap when he barged into class with his sour breath, rumpled shirt, bruise blossoms on his cheeks. My pulse skittered as if he were a coiled spring, waiting to snap at me.

I hated him so fiercely, but a tiny voice in my skull whispered that maybe there’s more beneath that anger. It crawled through my ribs, a silver hope that he wasn’t all cruelty.

Then my fists clenched, and the spark died.

He’d proven time and again he was nothing but a coward masking fear with fists.

He chose me, always me, for his playground brutality. He prowled the halls like a beast, and I was the trembling prey.

Every taunt carved me smaller. When I saw him near, my knees went rubbery. I’d drop my head and weave through corners, willing the ground to swallow me whole.

This wasn’t the kind of hate you grow out of. This was the kind you carry around like it’s a part of your bones.

That afternoon I spotted him first. Back turned, jaw clamped tight as he leaned toward Dante, his best friend.

My heart thundered: he’d notice me any second. Dante’s gaze flicked up, met mine, and he slid me a pitying smile that felt like a lifeline.

I edged past, trying not to inhale Caiden’s booze breath as it drifted after me in waves. My skin prickled.

Luck clung to me until final bell. Then it abandoned me.

I’d almost made it out of the back lot when I sensed him behind me. His shadow stretching over my spine.

My pulse hammered, ears roared. I tried to push past, but his bulky body pinned me against the brick wall. Cool stone dug into my shoulder blades.

“Hey, Langston,” he snarled. “Where do you think you’re going?” His breath was a toxic blend of whiskey and malice.

I squeezed my eyes shut, mouth dry. How could no one else be here?

“Leave me alone,” I whispered. My voice cracked, but I willed it steady. I fought his weight, but strength flooded from my body.

“Why? That’s no fun, Amelia.” He leaned closer, and I tasted the booze on my tongue. His voice was low and dangerous. “Are you scared?”

“No.”

My voice trembled.

“Liar,” he said, his voice full of menace and hunger as he stared at me. “Liars get punished.”

He closed the last inch between us. My heart hammered against my ribs.

When he kissed me, it was a bruising collision, ragged and relentless. I tried to twist away, lungs burning, but my limbs wouldn’t obey.

He was reminding me that he was in control and had the power while I was powerless.

I didn’t scream or fight the way I should have. Instead I froze. The way a rabbit does, out in the open, as the hawk’s shadow hardens over its neck.

He was all muscle and hate, shoving me deeper into the brick as if he wanted my bones to fuse with the wall. With my arms trapped, even my knees could barely buckle; all that was left to surrender was my breath. My last weapon, gone.

“Fuck off,” I finally snapped, nails raking his arms,

“Fuck,” he whispered, and the heat in his voice made my stomach lurch. “You’re feral today.” He pressed the length of his body against mine, hips pinning me so hard I thought he’d shatter my pelvis.

He smashed his lips against mine again, filled with anger.

“You taste like fear,” he slurred, and I saw, for a split second, the wreckage inside him: a hunger to ruin and be ruined in turn.

His grip tightened until spots fuzzed the edge of my vision.

My tongue was a shard of glass, my mouth glued shut with something worse than terror.

Shame. And hunger.

I managed to twist my head, catch a glimpse of the lot. Empty except for a dying robin flapping in the gutter, wing broken.

I saw myself in that bird: ugly, helpless, only good for suffering.

For a minute all I could be was a body: heat wrapped in terror, ribs cinched so tight my heart might splinter. The world narrowed to the stink of booze and his darkened anger.

I understood exactly what my mother meant when she said some men were born hollow and lived only to swallow the light out of girls like me.

Somewhere distant, a voice cut through: “Dude, c’mon. Leave her alone. You’re drunk. You shouldn’t even be here.”

I looked to see Dante, his hand trying to yank Caiden away.

Caiden growled, shoved off, and staggered away with Dante behind him as he shoved him forward.

Dante looked back at me only once with pity and concern.

Light flooded back into my vision, and I sagged against the wall, trembling so hard I thought I might shatter.

Tears slicked my cheeks, hot and shame-laced. I scrubbed at them, but they tracked stubbornly over my jaw. The taste of defeat was sour in my mouth.

I wondered if soap or water could ever wash away the memory of his hands on my skin. Raw disgust coiled in my belly. At him, at myself for feeling so powerless.

I bolted to my car and floored the pedal, vision blurring with each passing streetlight. By the time I pulled into my driveway, my chest felt hollow, every breath a ragged gasp.

Inside, the house reeked of cigarettes and vodka. Mom’s usual aftermath.

Empty bottles were clustered on the counter. My fingers brushed the scarred walls, the faded nails and holes where pictures once hung. Those scars whispered stories of chaos, but nothing comforted me.

Lillian emerged from the hallway, dead eyes behind smudged mascara. She offered a flat, “Hey, Amelia.”

I met Lillian’s eyes, searching for a sign that we could be allies, at least for tonight. All I saw was the same mask I wore in every mirror.

Her silences cut sharper than words. I wanted to scream: Mom’s out again. Maybe gone for nights this time. But I only managed, “Where’s Mom?”

Lillian shrugged. “With some guy. Said don’t wait up.” She slipped away, and I realized how much I wanted to shake her, demand we be sisters again.

But I was too tired.

I fled to the bathroom and slammed the door, ripping off my clothes.

Under the dribble of tepid water, I scrubbed until my arms stung, fingernails raw.

Steam coiled around me as I collapsed against the tile floor and wept until my lungs trembled. My reflection in the mirror stared back. Eyes red-rimmed, skin blotched. I imagined bugs crawling beneath my flesh, proof that I wasn’t safe in my own body.

I didn’t deserve any of this, and yet here I was, alone. No gentle hand to brush my hair, no voice to whisper words of comfort. My mother’s love was as vanished as my father’s. Abandoned. It pressed on my chest, a weight I could neither lift nor escape.

Later that day, I faced my evening shift at the bookstore, the weight of the day still clinging to me like a second skin.

As I drove through the familiar streets, an unsettling sensation prickled beneath my skin, as though I might peel away the layers of myself at any moment.

Now, rolling up to the shop’s faded brick facade, the scent of paper and ink seeped through the cracks in the door, anchoring me.

The bell chimed as I entered, and for a moment the day’s chaos melted away.

Michelle looked up from the stacks. Concern rippled across her face. “Hey, you okay? You look pale.” Her gaze traced the dark crescents under my eyes.

“I’m fine,” I forced a smile, throat tight.

Fine. The word tasted metallic as I imagined Caiden’s mocking grin, the memory of roaches scuttling under my skin after our last encounter. The lie slipped out too easily.

I turned to the boxes at my feet. New arrivals. My fingers brushed over glossy spines.

Thrillers and memoirs, self-help guides promising salvation.

My pulse rattled in my ears. I longed to dive into one of those pages, to escape into a world where endings were happy and hope was guaranteed.

But here, reality clung to me like a shadow. No one could feel the ache I carried, the suffocating loneness that trailed me down every aisle, every street corner. If I surrendered to that darkness, it would swallow me whole.

I sliced open a box and pulled out a father memoir, the cover embossed in hopeful gold.

My lips curled.

Father. A ghost. I used to cling to the idea that he’d come back someday.

Next came a self-help guide, its bright letters promising healing.

My heart clenched at the memory of giving this very book to my mother on her birthday, she had exploded and stormed out in a rage. Lillian and I should have known better than to corner her with care.

I learned my lesson. Never corner a druggie. Let them figure it out, on their own time.

“Hey, Amelia.”

I looked up from the battered cardboard box at my feet, my fingertips brushing over the cracked leather spines and faded gold lettering of old volumes, and saw Dante standing in the fluorescent glow of the bookstore aisle.

He had that way of appearing out of nowhere, like a shadow slipping between stacks of paper, and my pulse stuttered.

“Dante, hey.” I forced the corners of my mouth into a smile, though my chest felt tight. The scent of aged paper and dust motes drifting in the lamplight did nothing to calm my nerves. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn denim jacket. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he glanced around the quiet shelves. “Just need to pick up a book for English class.”

A low thrum of curiosity made me tilt my head. He didn’t strike me as the reading type, more a pranks-and-skateboards guy, but maybe I was wrong. “Oh? What book?”

He licked his lips, gaze flicking back to me. “And Then There Were None. Is it in stock?”