She thinks she fucking owns me.
I finally shut the engine off, the silence hitting hard. Just the steady beat of rain against the roof and the dull ache in my chest.
The car door swung open, and I stepped out into the cold rain, slamming it behind me harder than necessary. The sound echoed through the street like a gunshot. I stopped in my tracks, looking back towards the car over my shoulder. I didn’t want to look at it—the constant reminder of her sitting just outside my window. Letting out a sigh, I returned to the car, turned on the engine, and parked it further away. That way, I wouldn’t have to explain how the swanky new car materialised outside the flat.
I stood there in the centre of the living room, my shoulders tight, fists clenched. The silence around me was suffocating. It left too much room for her voice to slither in. “You don’t have a choice.”
That phrase played on repeat in my head, her breath warm on my neck, her lips pressed against skin like a brand. She thought I was hers. Like Danny did. Like juvie did. Like every cage I’d ever been locked in, be it steel bars or honeyed words. My anger clawed up my throat before I could stop it.
“Fuck!” I roared, my voice ragged with fury, raw with shame. My hand curled around the nearest thing, a ceramic ashtray on the edge of the side table, and I hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, shards raining down over the old ratty armchair.
I didn’t stop there. I swept everything off the counter with a hard shove. Bottles. Magazines. Some take-out boxes, whatever had been collecting since I’d crawled back here. A lamp followed, cracking as it hit the wall. The couch cushions were next, thrown one after another in blind fury.
And still, the pressure in my chest didn’t budge.
Every broken thing on the floor felt like a piece of me—things I let people take. Moments, I didn’t fight hard enough. The way Selene looked at me like a pet, polished and dangerous butstill hers. I slammed my fist into the wall, hard enough to feel something crack in my wrist.
My breathing was ragged now. Sweat and rain mixed down the back of my neck. My chest heaved as I staggered back and collapsed into the wreckage of the couch, surrounded by broken glass and splinters. My hands were trembling. I pressed my palms into my eyes, breathing through clenched teeth.
“I’m not yours,” I whispered into the empty room. “I’m not fucking anyone’s!”
I sat there for a while, chest rising and falling sharply, the broken mess around me reflecting the storm raging inside. My knuckles were red, one split open from hitting the wall. A thin trickle of blood crawled down the side of my hand, but I just watched it, allowing the pain to ground me back into my body.
I’d let her go too far in. Let her words distract me, her mouth divert my attention from what I already knew. The car, the kisses, the control— all just another chain. A sudden knock at the door snapped my head up. I froze, breath held midway. My eyes flicked to the door. Another knock— three times this time, firm and deliberate. I pulled myself up, every muscle protesting, stepping through the chaos.
When I opened the door, I didn’t know what I was expecting. Squeeks stood there, shivering and soaked to the bone. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the chaos I’d left in my wake. She didn’t speak right away; she just stood there in the doorway like she wasn’t sure if it was safe to step in.
Finally, she spoke, voice small. “He threw me out.” I blinked at her, still breathing heavily.
“Who?” She didn’t need to answer. The second I saw her bottom lip tremble, I knew. Danny.
She gently kicked off her wet shoes and stepped inside, feeling relieved to be out of the rain. “Said I screwed up the job. Made me walk home in the rain. Didn’t even let me grab my stuff.”Her voice cracked at the edge. I didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her, and something inside me twisted in that ugly way it always did when Danny’s name came up. She moved carefully into the room, stepping around broken glass.
Her eyes scanned the wreckage, “What the fuck did you do?” turning back to look at me.
“I snapped,” I said simply, voice hollow.
“No fucking shit,” she made her way further into the living room, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Can I stay here? Just for tonight,” I gave a short nod, grabbed my jacket off the floor and started heading for the door.
“Yeah, have at it.” She moved quick blocking my path, brows furrowed.
“Where are you going?”
I brushed past her, too tightly wound to stop. “Out,” she spun on the spot.
“It’s getting late. You’re still hurt. Screech…”
“I said I’m going out.” My voice came out sharp and forced, slamming the door behind me, leaving her behind.
The bar was louder than I liked, but it would do. My head was a storm, and I needed somewhere to drown it. I’d left Squeeks alone in the flat, her cheeks blotched from crying. But I wasn’t sticking around to play caretaker. The streets were streaming with life as I weaved my way through, hands tucked tightly into my pockets, dodging a large group of beefcakes walking towards me and slipped into the nearest bar. I figured I wasn’t up for dealing with people tonight, positioning myself on the far end, ordering something strong to dull my mind. I was reaching the end of the whiskey bottle when I noticed him, a big guy with a Buzz cut. The shirt was a size too small to show off arms that had seen the inside of a prison gym. One of those blokes who walked like the room owed him rent. He clocked me the second hestepped in. Kept staring at me like I was some fucking enigma. I met his eyes once. Brief and cold, that was enough.
He swaggered up to the bar, threw a glance my way like I was fresh meat, and then leaned in close enough I could smell whatever cheap ass aftershave he drowned himself in.
“Look at you,” he said, voice playful, taunting me. “Pretty boy with his little scowl. You trying to act hard, or is this just your natural face?” I didn’t bite, didn’t even flinch. Just continued sipping from the bottle.
He took that as a challenge, “Come on now,” he said, louder, “Give us a smile. Wouldn’t want anyone thinkin’ you’re scared.” Glancing around him, as the bartenders' concerned eyes flicked between us. I did wonder if I had somehow managed to stamp ‘pick a fight. I dare ya’ to my forehead. But with my current mood, it was probably written all over my face. I was just waiting for my opportunity. He stepped closer, and his boot scraped against mine beneath the bar. And that was it.
