For a heartbeat, I almost don’t recognize him. His face is swollen, bruises painting his skin in shades of purple and sickly yellow, one eye blackened and puffed nearly shut. He looks smaller and thinner, broken and weak. His back is pressed against the wall like it’s the only thing holding him up. But it’s him. I know that face. I could never forget it. Hell, I saw it a few months ago.
My breath falters, my heart is racing so hard I feel it pounding in my throat. Every memory roars back, vivid and merciless: his laughter, his hands, the helplessness. My fingers twitch against Alex’s grip, my body screaming to bolt, but I force myself to stay rooted. My legs shake, but I don’t move.
Then Nate’s eye finds mine.
And for a second, time is nothing but silence. His gaze widens, shock flaring across his battered face, and he moves away from the wall, opening his mouth like he wants to say something.
But then his gaze shifts.
To Alex.
And I see it—fear. Real, bone-deep fear flashes in Nate’s swollen features as his battered body shrinks back against the wall, his shoulders curling in, his face blanching. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look small, the first time he’s not the monster looming over me but a pathetic shadow pressed into concrete, his fear laid bare.
And the sight of it collides with the storm inside me, crashing and relentless.
An unbelievable scoff tears out of me before I can stop it—ugly, loud, bitter. His head jerks, his swollen eye snapping to mine. And I don’t look away. I burn into him with everything I never got to scream, everything he tried to bury inside me.
And when I move, it isn’t backward.
It’s forward. One step. Just one, but my heartbeat slams against my ribs like it’s trying to claw out of my chest. His back pulls from the wall as if he wants to rise, but Alex’s hand brushes mine as he passes me, stepping in front of me, toward Nate. I hear the broken whimper Nate lets out when Alex hauls him upright and shoves him into the chair at the center of the room. Nate flinches under his touch, shrinking as if the air itself has teeth, as Alex plants himself behind him, one hand heavy on his shoulder, pinning him in place. Then his eyes flick to me —steady, sharp, urging.
My legs move before my fear can chain me down.
Each step is deliberate.
Each step heavier than the last until I’m standing in front of him, looking down at his battered face, the same face I used to see in my nightmares, now cracked open by fear and disbelief.
Lu…” His voice cracks, pathetic. “Lucas, I—”
My hand moves across his before his words can poison the air.
The slap rips through the silence, louder than I thought I was capable of. His head whips to the side, his groan splitting through the stillness. My palm stings, but it’s nothing compared to the fire tearing through me.
I don’t stop staring at him.
“Look at me,” I demand. My voice scrapes raw, a sound I barely recognize as mine. His eye drifts back to mine. Wet, bloodshot, afraid, and tired.
“I don’t want your apology for that day.” My voice trembles, but I don’t let it collapse. “You don’t get to wash it away with words. But you’ll apologize to me for threatening to harm Tyler.”
I watch his throat bob, see his body quake under the weight of Alex’s hand. His eyes blur red, tears leaking down his bruised skin as he nods, frantic, desperate.
He swallows hard, lips trembling, a tear spilling. “I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I’m so fucking sor—”
I don’t let him finish. The second slap lands harder, sharper, cutting him off mid-sentence. His head jerks to the other side, a strangled sound leaving his lips. My chest heaves, the rage and grief ripping through me all at once, my palm trembling at my side.
“That’s for when you saw me months ago and said I ruined everyone’s life,” I spit out, my chest burning, “when it was you—all of you who ruined mine.”
I don’t wait for his reaction. My palm connects again, harder this time. My vision blurs with rage, the tears threatening to spill, but my hand doesn’t stop trembling forward.
“That’s for the way you’ve carved me into something I never wanted to be,” I grit out.
I grab his head, forcing him to look at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his body weak, exhausted, hollow, begging. He’s nothing like the boy I remember, and yet still unmistakably him. Still Nate. Still, the face that has haunted me.
“I wish you’d die right now,” I whisper, my voice quivering but sharp enough to cut. “Slowly. Painfully. In the worst way imaginable.”
His breath stutters, his lips moving in broken pleas I don’t hear, don’t care to listen. The words keep spilling out of me, sharp, raw, soaked in years of hatred.
“But no,” I breathe, my grip tightening on his jaw, “death would be mercy. And you don’t deserve mercy.”
