“He’s not yours to fucking touch.”
The man doesn’t know when to give up because he tries to spitat me.
I fuckinghatethis man for what he did to Luca. For what he stole from him.
His safety.
His sense of self.
His trust.
And most importantly, his love. Something he never deserved to have.
I don’t feel the impact of my fists against his face.
I don’t see the blood staining my knuckles.
I barely notice the red streaking across the floor.
All I see is Luca.
Flinching away from my touch.
Crying in my arms.
His face, marred with bruises. His throat, dotted with black fingerprints. His eyes, bloodshot and watery. The hemorrhaging around his eyes.
The sounds of flesh hitting flesh are dull, muted under the memory of Luca’s gut-wrenching sobs. The shakiness in his voice when he told me he lied. The shame. The guilt. The pain.
All the pain. Too much fucking pain.
Not anymore.
I grab a fistful of Damien’s hair and slam his head against the floor. “Never. Fucking. Again.”
My shoulders are aching, my lungs burning.
Someone grabs my arm, and I try to shove them away.
“Austin, stop. You have to stop.”
Luca. It’s Luca.
I look down at Damien, awareness returning instantly. He’s more blood than man. Almost unrecognizable.
Luca. Oh, Luca.
I stumble to my feet, and his concerned face comes into focus. He’s scared. I scared him. Fuck.
“Austin?”
His voice. God, what have I done? What the fuck did I do?
“Baby,” I croak, cupping his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t. You have to believe me.”
There’s blood smeared across his skin, staining his dark hair and marking up his cheekbones. “You’re bleeding.”
Damien hurt him. I was too late. I let him get hurt.
