It's… absurd.
Insane.
Tragic.
Pathetic.
Sad.
My knees buckle.
Just—give out completely.
I hit the floor hard, catching myself on my hands, and the sob that comes out of me doesn't sound human. It sounds like something dying. Like something being torn apart from the inside.
"Oh Jesus—Emmaleen?—"
"I don't know." The words come out broken. Fractured. "I don't know if I chose this or if he made me think I chose this and Ican't tell the differenceand that's—that's?—"
I can't breathe.
Can't get air past the thing lodged in my throat.
My whole body is shaking. Trembling so hard my teeth are chattering.
"And then I took the key and I went upstairs because I wanteddemerits. I wanted to be punished. I wanted him to hurt me so he could put me back together and I'd feel—I'd feel?—"
"Shhh." Lorcan's voice is right next to me now. "Shh, a stór, I've got ya." His arms come around me. Strong. Solid. Pulling me against his chest as I completely fall apart.
I'm crying so hard I can't see. Can't think. Can't do anything except sob into Lorcan's shirt while he holds me on his bedroom floor.
"I miss him." The words are muffled against his chest. Pathetic. "I miss Jino. I miss the dungeon. I miss the rules. I miss knowing exactly what was expected of me, and how to earn rewards, and what the consequences were for failure and Ihatethat I miss it because that means something is so fundamentally broken in me that I crave being owned like it's—like it's?—"
My voice cracks completely.
Lorcan's hand comes up to the back of my head. Fingers threading through my hair. Petting me. Soothing me.
"Yer not broken," he murmurs. "Yer just like all the rest of us, really. The whole world's fucked up, Emmaleen. It is. Your fucked-up place in this fucked-up world is nothin' but a speck. That's all it is, just a speck. And… this reaction, yer havin' here…" He hugs me. "It's classic withdrawal."
I hold my breath. Let that word roll around in my head for a moment. Then push away from him just enough so I can see his eyes. "Withdrawal?" I scoff. "It's not literally cocaine, Lorcan. It's just?—"
"It is," Lorcan says, placing his hand on the side of my head and guiding my face to his chest. "It is, darlin'. It's a real fuckin' thing. Jino explained it to me."
"Jino?" I try and sit up again, wanting to hear everything.
But Lorcan holds me in position. His arms tightening around me. "Power-exchange withdrawal," he says. "It's simple, really. Your nervous system adapted to Giovanni's control—the structure, the discipline, the rewards, the punishment. Yourbody learned to regulate itself throughhim. Through Jino. It's a feedback loop."
I suck in a shaky breath, trying to process.
"Last night," he continues, his accent softening the edges of the words, "when ya took that key and went upstairs—ya weren't just breakin' rules for the sake of it. Ya were collectin' demerits. Stackin' them up. Because the more ya failed, the more intense the punishment would be. The more Giovanni would have tonoticeya. Touch ya. Correct ya."
"Yes," I say. I've already admitted this to myself, but hearing it come from him makes it hit different. Harder.
I wanted Giovanni's hands on me. Wanted the crop. Wanted to be bent over the punishment bench until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't exist as anything except his. I wanted him toseeme failing so he could put me back together.
I was pushing his limits.
Testing him.
