PART I
HER BREAKING POINT, HIS CONDITIONING AND THEIR CONNECTION
THE PAST
AMELIA’S BREAKING POINT
18 years old
I grew sickly accustomed to the stench of liquor, its sour bite clinging to the air whenever my mother stumbled home.
In those nights, she became a stranger. Harsh, unpredictable, and so cold that I ached to flee her presence.
My stomach would clench before I even saw her, heart twitching like a trapped bird. She drifted from room to room in a glassy haze, muttering at empty chairs, and I felt my chest hollow out.
I wanted to vanish.
Sometimes that same stench trailed behind Caiden at school.
It hit me like a slap when he barged into class with his sour breath, rumpled shirt, bruise blossoms on his cheeks. My pulse skittered as if he were a coiled spring, waiting to snap at me.
I hated him so fiercely, but a tiny voice in my skull whispered that maybe there’s more beneath that anger. It crawled through my ribs, a silver hope that he wasn’t all cruelty.
Then my fists clenched, and the spark died.
He’d proven time and again he was nothing but a coward masking fear with fists.
He chose me, always me, for his playground brutality. He prowled the halls like a beast, and I was thetrembling prey.
Every taunt carved me smaller. When I saw him near, my knees went rubbery. I’d drop my head and weave through corners, willing the ground to swallow me whole.
This wasn’t the kind of hate you grow out of. This was the kind you carry around like it’s a part of your bones.
That afternoon I spotted him first. Back turned, jaw clamped tight as he leaned toward Dante, his best friend.
My heart thundered: he’d notice me any second. Dante’s gaze flicked up, met mine, and he slid me a pitying smile that felt like a lifeline.
I edged past, trying not to inhale Caiden’s booze breath as it drifted after me in waves. My skin prickled.
Luck clung to me until final bell. Then it abandoned me.
I’d almost made it out of the back lot when I sensed him behind me. His shadow stretching over my spine.
My pulse hammered, ears roared. I tried to push past, but his bulky body pinned me against the brick wall. Cool stone dug into my shoulder blades.
“Hey, Langston,” he snarled. “Where do you think you’re going?” His breath was a toxic blend of whiskey and malice.
I squeezed my eyes shut, mouth dry. How could no one else be here?
“Leave me alone,” I whispered. My voice cracked, but I willed it steady. I fought his weight, but strength flooded from my body.
“Why? That’s no fun, Amelia.” He leaned closer, and I tasted the booze on my tongue. His voice was low and dangerous. “Are you scared?”
“No.”
My voice trembled.
“Liar,” he said, his voice full of menace and hunger as he stared at me. “Liars get punished.”
