But I'm still here.
Sleep comes slowly.
And when it does, I dream of ice-blue eyes and rough hands and a voice telling me exactly what I am.
Mine.
Even if he didn't mean it.
For those few minutes, I washis.
Chapter 17
Iwake up to sunlight stabbing through the curtains.
Wrong. Something's wrong. The light is too bright, the angle too high. I grab my phone from the nightstand and squint at the screen.
11:47 AM.
I never sleep this late. Never.
My body reminds me why before I can fully process the time. The ache hits first—deep, throbbing, radiating from between my legs up through my hips. Every muscle protests when I try to move. My thighs are sore. My back is stiff. And when I shift even slightly, the sharp sting of torn flesh makes me gasp.
Right.
Last night.
Zero.
The memories flood back in fragments. His hands. His voice. The weight of him behind me, inside me, taking something I can never get back.
This is what omegas are made for.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
Don't think about it. Don't feel it. Just get up. Just move. Just survive another day.
The process of standing takes longer than it should. I have to roll onto my side first, then push myself up slowly, every motion calculated to minimize the pain. My legs shake when I finally get vertical. The room tilts, then steadies.
I catch my reflection in the mirror above my dresser and immediately look away.
I don't want to see what I look like right now. Don't want to catalog the evidence.
Clothes. I need clothes.
I pull on the loosest sweatpants I own—soft cotton that won't press too hard against anything. An oversized hoodie that swallows me whole. Armor. Protection. Something to hide inside.
My phone buzzes.
Margot: Good morning sweetheart! Richard and I are at brunch with the Hendersons. Back around 3. There's food in the fridge. Love you! ??
I stare at the message. Read it twice.
She has no idea. No idea that her son got fucked raw in the basement last night by her stepson. No idea that I'm falling apart. No idea that everything she thinks she knows about me is a lie.
I type back: Love you too
Then I shove the phone in my pocket and try to figure out how I'm going to make it downstairs without dying.
