A wail builds in my chest, bubbling and clawing; it feels like sandpaper beneath my skin. Each grain is another meaningless indiscretion. Everything I’ve gone through and survived, every time I’ve fought like my life depended on it, was all for my grandfather’s benefit. My wings aren’t clipped; they don’t exist.
And I’m fucking sick and tired of it.
I’m done.
“Come here,” a voice whispers. Sudden pressure around my waist makes me jolt up to get away. Instead, I’m pulled forward against a hard chest that smells of patchouli and mint.
Then everything breaks.
Years of bottled tears spill over, trailing a path of fire down my skin.
“It’s just me. It’s okay,” Kohen says, just loud enough for me to hear.
My knuckles protest when I grab onto his shirt. “Don’t—Let go of me. No.” Everything hurts. Pushing against him feels like an impossible mission that takes me back to yesterday when my body wasn’t my own any more than my life was.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Gentle hands run down the back of my head. The tender touch fills my aching heart with the warmth the frozen waters took from me. He arranges our bodies so my knees are up against my chest, and he holds on to my curls like they’re a life-saving treatment. In here, it’s warm and miles away from the tub.
Stay away from the Osmans.
You will never know a moment of peace in your life.
Break that boy’s heart if you have to.
This can be a common occurrence.
I shake my head against Kohen’s chest. My tears soak into the material of his shirt. I’ve had enough.
I need another hit.
I need the baggie they were bribing me with.
I need the sweet release that comes in powder form and makes me forget about all of this shit. There won’t be any more pain. Any heartache. It’ll make everything feel right for just a moment.
I fuckingneedit.
“I’ve got you.” He holds me like someone is trying to take me away from him, but he’ll never let go. Ever since I was a child, I wondered what it would feel like to be held like this. He’s taking my firsts in the ways that truly matter.
He was the first man to kiss me like I’m a one-of-a-kind masterpiece that’s too precious to be displayed on a wall. He was the first person to touch my skin and not make me wonder if I’d find bruises where his fingers were. Mostly, he’s the first person who saw my dying heart and wanted to bring it to life.
I’m not breaking his heart, even if he’s inadvertently hurt me more than once. He has enough demons to drown in, and I have mine. I don’t want to see him as an enemy anymore—lord knows I have enough of those.
His breath is feather-soft against my hair, and I squeeze my eyes shut, basking in the feel of it. “Everything is going to be alright.”
Alright. That’s not a word in my dictionary. Things are neveralrightunless my nose is twitching from the powder I snorted.Alrightis a state of delusion.
This can’t be the last time I feel those firsts. I want something more than momentary euphoria. I’ve always had a house to go back to. It was a structure with many walls and a single roof that leakedin certain places. It had rotting floorboards and gaps between the windows that let the draft through.
What I want isn’t just a house; it’s a home. Somewhere I can rest my head and not worry about someone creeping through the windows or breaking into my room when I’m not there. I want to be able to call it mine and know that even if it is temporary, it stays strong whenever I’m not.
“I was looking for you.” Kohen’s hands find mine, and he stiffens beneath me. One by one, he unfurls my fingers, revealing the cacophony of mangled flesh. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say through a hiccup and snatch my hands from him, stuffing them in my hoodie pocket. “Everything is fucking pointless anyway.”
“What happened, Blaze?” he repeats, pulling my hands out from the pockets of my hoodie.
Blaze.
I’ve always been Blaze to him. Despite wanting to get under my skin, I was never Marie or Miss Whitlock. I’ve always been me.
