He steps closer. “No,” he snaps. “You don’t get to tell me to stop. You should be grateful I touch you at all.”
My chest tightens. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
“You think you’re confident now?” he sneers. “Dancing around. Showing off. Pretending you’re happy. You’re still the same girl. Still pathetic. Still too much.”
I back away from him and hit the wall with nowhere else to go.
He looms over me, face twisted with anger, and suddenly his hand is on my arm. Gripping it so hard it burns.
I gasp. “Brian, stop. You’re hurting me.”
“Good,” he says. “Maybe you’ll remember what you are.”
His grip tightens and the room tilts, spins, and I feel myself folding inward, small and trapped and worthless all over again. Just like before.
I jolt awake with a sharp breath, my heart racing, sweat cooling on my skin. The room is dark, but I know instantly I’m safe in my bedroom. Menace lifts his head, lets out a low, concerned huff, and presses closer to my side. Psycho whines softly, scooting up until his warm weight pins my legs.
I curl into myself, clutching the fabric of my T-shirt, trying to convince my body I’m safe. That he isn’t here. That he can’t touch me. That his voice doesn’t get to own me anymore. Tears slip out anyway. I breathe through it. One breath, then another. “I’m safe,” I whisper into the dark, even if I don’t fully believe it yet. Eventually, slowly, my heartbeat finds its way back down and I fall back to sleep.
The dream shifts before I can run. Brian’s still yelling, still towering over me, but now there’s something in his hand.
“No,” I say immediately. My voice cracking, knowing what’s about to happen.
He smiles. “See?” he says calmly, like this is just another lesson. “This is what happens when you don’t listen.”
My arms come up to shield myself. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might tear itself loose.
My eyes drop to his hand and I see it. The blade. Caught in the light, angled just right, familiar in the worst way. My stomach drops because I know it. I know exactly what kind of pain it brings. I’ve known it longer than I ever wanted to.
“This is your fault,” he says. “You made me do this.”
“No,” I gasp. My whole body is shaking now. Tears spill over before I can stop them. “Please, Brian,” I sob. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise. Please don’t do this.” Then my legs give out and I slide down the wall, my back scraping against it as I collapse, arms coming up instinctively, uselessly, trying to protect what I can even though I already know it won’t matter. I fold in on myself, shaking so hard my teeth chatter, small and terrified and bracing for what I know is coming.
He snarls and lashes out at me. Slicing against my arms. Blood dripping down covering my skin. I know better than to fight him. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. Fighting only makes it worse. Louder. More punishing.
So I curl inward, folding myself into a tight ball on the floor, trying to disappear into my own body, trying to make myself small enough that he’ll stop sooner. I scream anyway. The sound tears out of me when the pain hits again, sharp and breath-stealing. I try to pull away, but his grip locks me in place, unmovable. I feel it once more. Then again. Each timesteals something vital. Air. Strength. The sense that I’m still a person and not just something being hurt. I shrink further into myself, shaking, breaking down piece by piece, until all that’s left is fear and the instinct to survive.
I wake up choking on a scream. My whole body jerking violently, pain echoing where there is none, my arms pulled tight to my chest like I can still feel him there. My heart is racing so hard it hurts. I can’t breathe. I can’t tell where the dream ended. I curl into myself, arms tucked tight, rocking slightly. “It’s not real,” I whisper. “It’s not real. I’m safe.”
There’s a crash in the living room.
Metal clatters. Something thumps hard against the wall. Then boots. Heavy. Fast. Coming closer.
I jolt upright in bed, heart slamming against my ribs, breath coming too quick. For a split second I don’t know where I am. Don’t know if I’m still dreaming. My hands come up automatically, useless shields as I stare at the bedroom door.
Footsteps stop right outside.
A shadow fills the doorway.
Big. Broad. Looming.
He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling like he ran all the way here. His shoulders are tense, his jaw set, eyes sharp with anger that hasn’t figured out where to land yet.
“Firecracker,” he says, rough and urgent. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, throat tight, the room still tilting. My voice barely makes it past my lips. “Lucky?”
He steps inside immediately, crossing the room in three long strides, all the way to the side of the bed. The anger drains out of his face the second he really looks at me.
