But somewhere along the way, it started to rot.
After my father sent me off like luggage, into that place. Into that orphanage that only made everything worse.
And now, I wonder how much of this skin is even mine anymore. How much of it is skin, and how much of it is their hands? Their fingerprints?
Sometimes in the mirror I don’t see Kai Steele. I see a used-up thing.
Dirty.
Pathetic.
Not worth saving. Not worth anything.
Beautiful?It’s almost laughable. They don’t see the rot under the skin. I’m used up. Hollowed out. Ugly where it matters most.
Whatever they think they see—it’s not me. It never was.
There are times like that, and there are times when that is overtaken by hate. By pure, fiery resentment.
Where I tell myself that I am not theirs to pose, to touch, to sell. That I’m not a body to brand or a face to frame. That I won’t smile while they carve pieces off me.
That I am not their fantasy. I am not their product. I’m a person.
And I belong to no one but me.
They’ll know exactly what I mean when I say I am done beingbeautiful. I am done beingloved.
I am not here to be admired. I’m here to burn.
Addie
I’m not sure how long we’ve been driving—five minutes, twenty, thirty? Time’s gone strange. All I know is that it’s long enough for my nerves to twist and my heart to race.
We’re heading to my house.Myhouse. And maybe it should hold some kind of sentimentality, but now, even saying it in my head… I feel nothing.
Nothing but an annoying, persistent ache where that warmth should have been.
Lilia’s driving. One hand on the wheel, the other fiddling absently with the volume knob even though the radio’s off. She hasn’t said much, and I’m grateful. There’s only so much small talk I can manage when my stomach is doing acrobatics.
I press my palms against my thighs and try to focus on the road outside the window. Rows of houses blur by, none of them ours yet. I feel a cold weight settle in my chest the closer we get.
I used to panic in cars. Completely freeze up. Couldn’t breathe properly. Couldn’t think straight. Now it’s… better. Mostly. Some days I even forget why I was scared in the first place. But today isn’t one of those days.
Although I’m beginning to think the panic is less to do with the vehicle and more to do with the destination.
I’m not going to pretend I feel okay, though. I feel sick. Light-headed, nauseous, raw in a way I can’t explain. But I’ve felt worse. And that must count for something.
It has to.
Lilia glances over at me, her brows drawing together. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks.
I don’t know if I nod. I think I do. My body moves before I make the decision. “I’m great.” The words are thin and dull, and entirely unconvincing.
Lilia knows it too.
She gives me a look. A patient one. The kind of look that saysI’ll let you lie, but only because I know you’re tired of explaining the truth.
“Maybe it won’t go as terribly as you think,” she says after a beat.
