The words barely make it through. My body is already spiraling. My pulse pounds so violently I can hear it in my ears. I claw at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers away, but he tightenshis grip instead, his eyes blazing with something feral and un-contained.
“No,” he snaps, leaning closer. “You want to talk big? Then-”
The moment he pulls his hand away, the dam breaks.
The sob that tears out of me is raw and humiliating. My whole body shakes with it.
“Y-you’re no better than them,” I choke, scrambling backward until my spine hits the car door.
The space feels suffocating. Too small. Too tight. The air inside the car feels contaminated, like it’s already been breathed too many times.
“You’re no better than those men,” I repeat, my words tripping over each other as panic swallows my lungs whole.
Confusion flickers across his face.
“What fucking men?”
“Her dealers,” I cry, the confession bursting out before I can stop it. “Her fucking dealers.”
The words feel like glass in my throat.
My hands fly up to cover my ears, as if that can drown out the memories clawing their way back to the surface. My body folds inward automatically, shoulders curling in, trying to disappear.
The party music outside keeps pounding. Laughter drifts through the open windows of nearby houses. The world keeps moving like nothing is wrong.
Inside the car, I’m unraveling.
“Octavia.” His voice is different now. Less sharp. More cautious.
His fingers brush my arm again.
I flinch violently.
The door handle is under my hand before I realize I’ve grabbed it. Shoving the door open, I stumble out of the car, my legs unsteady as they hit the pavement. The cool night air slamsinto my lungs, but it does nothing to fix the tightness in my chest. Sucking in a breath that feels too small, I try for another.
It still isn’t enough.
Silas steps out more slowly, watching me like I might shatter if he moves too fast.
“If I wanted someone to touch me for their own benefit,” I say, my voice louder now, fueled by adrenaline and humiliation, “I’d go back to that motel where she died.”
The words taste acidic.
“I’d wait for her dealers to have their way with me again,” I continue, staring at him with wide, furious eyes. “I’m sure, the way they see it, I still owe them.”
He goes still.
The anger drains out of his face, replaced by something darker.
“She… used you as-”
“As currency,” I cut in, my voice cracking. “For her addiction.”
The truth hangs between us like something rotting in the open air.
My mother’s voice echoes in my head. The excuses. The promises. The way she’d tell me it was just until she got clean. Just until things got better. Just until we were safe.
We were never safe.
