Even Rory never stripped me down to nothing like his animals. Just the opposite. He loved seeing me burn and scream and claw. He wanted me alive and roaring.
They all gave me time to heal, to play, to grow. What would come next?
Maybe I did belong to them.
But for the first time…it felt like maybe they could belong to me.
At Easthaven, no one belonged to me. I was just a number, a thing to be used and forgotten.
I drop to my knees in the mud and rocks, rain soaking my face, crying for me, weeping for me because the pain is too great for me to push the tears out. Lightning flashes again.
I swear I can feel their hands. Not hurting. Not holding me down.
Holding me up.
And it makes it worse. Because it means I left somethingrealbehind.
And god, how do you crawl back after that? How do you live under the weight of what you lost when you were the one who walked away? When you were the one whoran?
I can hear Seth’s laughter in the greenhouse as he let me grow.
Jude’s voice surrounding me in the shower, holding my brokenness.
Vincent’s body language when I’d call him Vinny—how we could see past the surface of each other.
Rory calling me ‘Lass’ in his brogue and throwing flour on me in the kitchen, feeding me from his hand.
Raphael…
He barely fucking touched me, except for those predatory eyes hunting me. But never…never…catching me.
The most he gave me was this mother fucking goddamn hat!
Tearing off my gloves, I get back up, tug them off, and throw them away, clinging to the weight of my own worthlessness like an anchor. I have to hold onto the hell I’m forging for myself.
Maybe it’s all I deserve. They’re not here. They’re not coming. I’m not worth fighting a storm.
So, I scramble up the rocks, my fingers slick with mud and rain, the cold biting until I can barely feel my hands anymore.I almost rip off the newsies cap, but if I let it go, then it never happened.
Except for your scars. And the brand.
So, why do I give a fuck about the cap?
A crack of thunder tears the sky apart—but I still hear it.
“Briella!”
That voice.
Hisvoice.
He roars my name like it belongs to him. Like it’s something he’s come to claim.
Slowly, I turn, heart hammering in my throat, wondering if I’m hallucinating—and there they are.
All FIVE of them.
I peel back the soaked strands clinging to my cheeks, my lips parting in awe. The storm turns them into shadows, but even through the veil of rain, I see it. The way the four of them flank Raphael, two on each side, moving in that V-formation just like they did that night. The night everything changed.
