Page 109 of The Addict

But what was the point?

What would that man’s death accomplish?

David would still haunt my nightmares. The pain, the psychological abuse and torture would forever be in my heart. My childhood wasn’t ever going to be returned. Neither was my virtue.

This life, dare I call it that, was meaningless.

I had no reason to go on.

And I had nothing more in me to give.

I was empty.

Hollow.

If you were smart, David’s voice taunted. You would just end it.

“You’re nothing, Noah.”

A shell.

From my place on the floor, I heard the front door slam shut. David was gone.

I choked on dry sobs, granting myself permission to scream, every sound that I held back finally absolved. I laid there, in the mess of my own destruction, cursing every name that I knew, wishing for death. The tears were unending pools of sorrow.

After what seemed like an eternity, I winced and tried to pick myself up from the ground. I toppled over three times before my legs shakily brought me to my feet. I slowly led my swaying body into the bathroom.

I collapsed in front of the toilet and lost what little there was in my stomach. The contents in the porcelain were red, blood mixed with bile. I vomited again just looking at it.

I pulled myself off the floor once again and got into the bathtub, touching the delicate buttons that let the scalding water fill the bowl around me. I could feel it burning my skin, but made no effort to change the temperature. Taking a bar of soap I scrubbed myself ruthlessly, determined not to stop washing until I no longer smelled David. No matter how hard I washed, it was as if the odor clung to my skin, refusing to be cast away. The scent was of sex, disgusting and unholy, bringing back the reality of the physical pain inside my body. I could smell blood—my own blood seeping into the bath around me, coloring the water a bittersweet garnet.

I shuddered and cried knowing that I could wash away the blood, the sex. Those were simple.

But there was something that couldn’t be abraded from my skin. From my being.

It was the essence of defeat.

Chapter twenty-eight

Waiting on the Other Side

SILAS

Someone rapped on the door four times before I was finally able to make it downstairs to answer. I was already fucking irritated. Noah hadn’t answered my message, and I found myself eager to text him again, even after I said I wasn’t going to chase him.

The problem was, I wanted to chase him. I wanted to fucking crawl to him. This wasn’t normal for someone like me. I was sophisticated. A professional. This sort of desire crap wasn’t supposed to make me feel like my world was crashing down. Yet, I was going mad envisioning his arrival, praying that he’d show up while I had the house to myself. If that was him at the door, I had plans for us—that much was sure.

I tried to act like I wasn’t tripping over my own feet to get to the main doors. I wanted to take my time, but the knocking sounded urgent.

I swung open the door, forgetting the cardinal rule of checking before doing so.

And when I saw who was waiting for me, I knew I was about to suffer for it.

Before I had a chance to speak, Damian Hansen took hold of my shirt collar with two fists, ripping me from the security of my house and smashing me against the wall adjacent to my door.

“Where is he?” he growled menacingly. “Where the fuck is he?”

I knew that Damian was referring to Noah, so when he asked me blatantly where he was, my first instinct was to worry, which was odd for someone like me. Where the hell was Noah, and why hadn’t he gone home? I kept my emotions under control, and instead I remarked cutely, “You still haven’t found him?”