Seventy-Four
“I don’t need fucking therapy,”
I say as I flump into the chair across Maddox’s desk that he has set up in his room. “I’m fine.” There’s nothing wrong with me. I survived. I fucking did it. No one will understand what I went through, so talking about it won’t fix a damn thing. I already fixed it when I killed Antonio and all his chimeras. I did that. No therapy fucking needed. “I don’t need to be here,” I say.
Maddox nods, his agreement taking me by surprise. The rush of relief I was expecting to feel doesn’t come though. I feel even more irritable and confused. Like he failed me. Like I’ve yet again been left on my own, abandoned to save myself even though I’m the one who pushed him away.
Fuck this.
I shove to my feet, wanting to get out of here. I don’t like this at all.
I was fine before I came into this room. I’ll be fine again as soon as I leave.
Maddox starts to stand too. “It’s understandable to be too scared to confront your enemy right now. I’ll tell Varius you aren’t –”
“I’m not scared,”
I snap. “And I killed the enemy.”
“You killed Antonio’s body. You didn’t kill his soul. You are keeping that alive inside you.”
I rear back as if he’d slapped me. My teeth clench tight as my throat burns. I hate that analogy. Hate the truth of it.
Hate how Antonio still feels so godsdamn alive.
How his touch lingers in my soul, entwined.
Like I’m still protecting him.
Unable to let him go.
My hands shake as I try to find the words – any words to convince him that’s not true.
“But it’s okay, Micha,”
Maddox says as he straightens, his tone light and without judgement despite being able to see right through me. He can see me. The shame, the sickness still clawing at my veins. I know he can. I can feel his eyes on my soul, and yet, he doesn’t look at me like I’m wrong. He doesn’t look at me how I look at myself, with these damn eyes that aren’t mine.
“I shall just go then,”
he says, “but I’ll be back when you are ready.”
Tears burn my eyes. I don’t want him to go. I want to be the one who walks away. Not the one who’s left behind. Not the one who’s the fucking victim. Who’s forced to seek him out later on my hands and knees. Begging like some whore. Like Sadist used to force me to do.
The memories of that fucker’s demands claw at my brain. Ripping it to rotten shreds until blood and bits run down my throat, making me mute. Suffocating me so I can’t get my mouth to speak or my legs to walk. I just stand frozen, panicking that he’s going to leave.
That he’s going to make me a victim.
Except he doesn’t take a step. He just stands there behind his desk, waiting.
Patient.
My throat burns as bad as my eyes now.
My legs giving out, I collapse back into my chair, feeling like I’ve sprinted a mile.
I still don’t want to be here. I just don’t have the strength to go.
I tense, waiting for him to talk, to take my presence as consent when it fucking isn’t.
But he doesn’t. He just sits back down and waits.
And waits.
The silence is thick with unsaid words.
But there’s no pushing.
There are no demands.
I can feel Varius’ growing concern as the hours pass and his attempt to tamper it so I can’t feel it. I can almost feel him pacing in our bedroom. Waiting. Hoping I’m okay.
But I am okay.
I am.
He wants to come in and see how I am.
I don’t push any comfort down our bond. I don’t have it in me to take care of him. I hate that he’s making me feel like I have to take care of him when he should be taking care of me.
His feelings disappear, the wall between us thick again, and I hate their absence too.
I just hate everything.
I hate me.
I hate what they did to me on that godsforsaken boat.
They were such terrible things.
No.
No, it’s better to just hide it. To bury it deep and move on.
I’m fine.
“I’m fine.”
“What about you do you think is fine?” he asks.
“Taking V is fine.”
“It is.”
I stare at him in shock. Then the words are blurting out. “So give me some. Write me a prescription or something so I can get Varius off my fucking back.”
“V is fine in regulation and when you’re not an addict.”
“I’m not addicted. I haven’t taken any in months.”
“So why do you want some now? If everything is fine?”
I clench my teeth, not liking his questions. I shrug one shoulder. “It’s just fun,” I lie.
“Is it fun to be beholden to a craving?”
“It’s not ‘holding’ me. I’m not a fucking victim to it.”
“But you want it without knowing why?”
“I know why.”
“So why then?”
My nostrils flare in frustration. I want it to stop the pain.
But if I tell him that, he’s going to think I know I’m not fine.
But I am.
I just wanted to have some fun.
“Because everyone’s so fucking uptight around me,”
I snap. “I’m not broken.”
“I know.”
I’m brought up short again, surprised at his agreement. “Well,”
I sputter. “Varius fucking doesn’t. He hasn’t once fucked me.”
“Do you want him to?”
I flounder.
I hate him for making me actually think about the words I’m saying. I just want to be angry. I want to feel something other than the crippling, fucking pain I felt on that boat. I want to know that I’m free, that I’m safe to be angry, and they’re not letting me.
They’re not letting me heal the way I need to.
Ignoring it isn’t healing.
Fuck you.
Attacking everyone who cares about you isn’t healing.
Fuck you!
My own damn voice should be on my side.
I hate this.
It’s this room.
It’s suffocating me.
I stand abruptly.
“I told you I don’t need fucking therapy. I just wanted to have a bit of fun. That’s it. Taking V isn’t a big fucking deal. You guys are all being dramatic.”
“Do you think you can have fun without the V?”
I flinch, then turn on my heels.
I’m not running away.
I’m just yanking open the door and striding out.
I storm through the house, hating how shaken I have become in only a few minutes. My body is trembling. My heart is aching. I’m hurting so godsdamn much, and I don’t want to be. I’m out. I survived. I killed him. Why can’t I move on?
I should be able to move on. Fuck!
I pick up a vase on a stand in the hallway and launch it at the other wall. My stomach drops as soon as the ceramic leaves my fingers. That was a flower Leno coaxed to life. I can’t kill it.
It smashes into pieces, and a cry rips from my throat.
You’re hurting everyone around you.
I don’t know how to stop.
Hurrying over to the fragmented pieces, I pick up the plant. It feels so heavy in my hands despite barely weighing anything at all.
A flurry of footsteps come up the stairs, and the door to Varius’ room opens. He didn’t come to me earlier, didn’t want to rush me, but he strides over to me now and stops just short of folding me in his arms.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
Enoch shouts as he reaches the top of the stairs and sees the mess on the floor. Leno loved this plant. He loved all of his plants, and he’s not here to grow any more. I’m destroying a part of him. A part of all of them.
I want to say, “I’m sorry,”
but I can’t. The words trap in my throat. Grubs’ voice whispers in my ear, making me hate that damn fucking phrase, and my legs shake with a need to run. Varius steps in front of me as his brother marches down the hall.
“She didn’t mean to,”
my husband says.
“She threw it across the fucking hall! How is that a damn accident? Leno is dead!”
Varius flinches. I flinch. Enoch’s face twists in pain, his anger draining out. “He’s dead,”
he says softly, “and she’s breaking what little remains.”
I open my mouth to try to apologize once more, hating myself as much as he does, but I still can’t get the words out.
I’m not fine.
I’m fine.
Placing the plant back on the ground, I run past the two of them and down the stairs. I just need some fresh air. This whole house is fucking suffocating. That’s all.
I just need some air.
I don’t go out the front door though. Don’t go past Leno’s blooming flowers. He’s dead because of me, because I wasn’t strong enough to stop Antonio from taking me. Because I didn’t immediately go hide in the basement like I was supposed to, too much pride making me stupid enough to think I could help fight. I should’ve gone down there and helped strengthen the ward. I would’ve been safe. We would have been safe. And all the brothers who died trying to save me would still be here. Krypto would be too.
Fighting back a sob, I yank open the back door and run. A momentary thought flashes through my brain to jump into the pool and drown myself, but I know Varius will just fish me out. I can sense him right behind me, worried. Concerned. And that’s just pissing me off.
I’m not broken.
I don’t need to be chased after.
Watched over.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m fucking fine!
Running through the trees, I relish in the slap of the branches across my skin. I want to cut all of Antonio’s touch off me. Let the poison seep out. Let him die.
“You’re keeping him alive inside you.”
I know.
I know, and I don’t want to. But I don’t know how to get him off me.
I could never get them off me…
My chest heaving, I slam into a tree and clutch at the trunk as the memories assault me. I can feel them touching me all over again. Putting their hands on me. Their mouths. Their cocks. Violating me. Ruining me. Making me feel like a stranger inside my own skin. I want to feel like me again. I want to be whole.
Feeling Varius come up behind me, I spin on my feet and throw myself at him. He tries to grab me to pull me into a hug, but I drop to my knees and pull at the front of his pants, my movements desperate, my hands shaking.
“Varius hasn’t fucked me.”
“Do you want him to?”
No.
I don’t want him to touch me at all. Just the thought of this is making me sick.
But I want to prove to myself that I’m okay.
“Micha –”
He grabs my hands, and I struggle against him. Knowing he’ll let me go if I hurt myself, I twist my arms the wrong way, prepared to break my wrists. At least that pain would be bearable.
Cursing, he releases me. “Don’t use me as a substitute for the V.”
Ignoring him, I pull his cock out and suck the tip into my mouth. He stiffens as he starts to grow beneath my tongue. His hands move to my shoulders. His fingers dig into my skin. Before, his grip would have scared me – the blatant show of violence.
But now it causes unwanted arousal – my body recalling all the pain I got when I was there. With them. Taking the V.
My stomach churns. My self loathing strengthens. How can any parallel to that time give me pleasure? But I can’t deny the heat pooling in my pussy. I reach a hand between my legs and slip a finger inside myself.
“Micha, stop,”
he hisses. But his hands don’t shove me off, and his cock is growing hard. If he really didn’t want this, he would stop me. He isn’t even trying to get away. He’s just trying to refuse me. He’s just trying to deny me something I want.
It gets him off, doesn’t it?
Telling me no. Taking away my control. Making me just his pathetic little bitch. Tears burn my eyes as their faces flash in front of me. Their cocks. Their orders. The pain and humiliation.
My teeth ache with the urge to snap down. Rip his cock off. Set myself free. But I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m okay.
I’m okay.
I’m already free.
They can’t hurt me.
But the urge doesn’t go away. I’m going to –
“Get off me!”
His roar of anger makes my pulse jerk inside my veins. I pull back, terrified of the punishment that’s coming, but I’ve moved too slow, and his fist is already slamming down on my head. Pain explodes down my face and neck, knocking me to the ground.
He kicks me, and I curl up instinctively. All my strength gone. Reduced to a weak, pathetic victim. I want some V.
Need the V.
His foot pulls back again.
But then it stomps onto the ground rather than me. He stumbles back as he grunts, his hands on his head.
“Run,”
he bites out as a black, inky substance pours from his fingers, running down his legs, then moving towards me.
I scramble back, my heart racing as the smoke-like fog thickens. But then I stop.
If he kills me, will my pain end?
Or will I just suffer some more in the afterlife?
“Run!” he roars.
“Varius!”
At the sound of Stormie’s shout, I jump to my feet. She must have been following us. She must have seen what happened. How weak I am. How pathetic.
I stumble away from them, horror painted on my face. I look at her, wondering what she sees.
But she doesn’t look at me.
Her attention on my husband, she throws up a pink ball around him. I look at him as he screams my name.
My head throbs from the weight of his fist.
“I’m s–”
he starts.
The bubble goes up, but I’m already running away.
“I’m sorry, princess,”
Grubs grunts as he grabs my hips and rams into me like an animal. “Daddy couldn’t wait. I kept thinking about how good you feel, and I just had to get back to you. You understand, don’t you? You forgive me?”
I’m okay…
I’m okay…
I’m not fucking okay.