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My vision becomes dizzy, black dots covering the room.
He releases just enough for me to drag in air, but he keeps me immobile anyway.
“I said, do you understand, wife?”
“Y-yes,” I croak.
“Atta girl. Now finish showering and meet me for breakfast.”
I crash to the floor when he lets me go, unable to hold myself together, but I wait until he’s out of the room to cry.
Because, fuck, this is too much. I feel like I’ve been here forever, even though I could probably still count the days on one hand.
I’m fucking married. I’m fucking stuck. I miss my family, and I miss my crew.
People must have been wrong when they called me strong. I don’t feel it. I’m not strong at all. I’m weakened and exhausted. There’s always someone bigger and stronger than you. Scarier. Someone you shouldn’t mess with. And I fucking messed with him.
The second I’m out of the shower and in a robe, I search the bathroom cabinets for band-aids. The cut at my neck keeps opening every time it starts to heal. Blame it on the man who’s taking a liking to choking me.
Hands shaking, I open and close the drawers and cabinets.
I can’t feel my extremities, and I can’t stop sobbing like an idiot. It’s because of him. Because he made me talk about my mom and the kind of shit I pushed to the back of my mind a long time ago. So long ago that I don’t even think about them when I talk to my mother. I didn’t even think about them when I lived with my dad as an adult. I hated him, period. I didn’t need to remind myself why.
When my mom ran away, he’d still beat me and Caden up, but the second we both became too strong, he stopped like the fucking coward he is. Especially when Caden started hitting back. My brother sent my dad to the hospital when I got a simple slap out of nowhere. After that, he never touched us again.
“Fuck!” I snap when I realize I’m shaking so much I can’t even stand still.
I hate feeling like this. I sacrificed my shell of strength to get into his head, and I’m still the one suffering.
A knock on the bathroom door startles me. I jump on a box of tissues on the side of the counter, running them under my eyes even as more tears fall.
“O-one second,” I hiccup.
But the door opens anyway.
“Nate, for fuck’s sake,” I hiss as I turn toward the door.
But it’s not Nate. It’s a million times worse.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” My voice sounds harsh, but I can still feel tears streaming down my face, and my nose is blocked, making me sound weaker than I want to.
Emma holds a small metal box with first aid written on it. Her eyes widen when she sees my state, and she closes the door behind her.
“Shit, are you okay?” She extends her free hand toward my throat, but I swat it away.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
I’m forced to wipe more tears, and I want nothing but the ground to open and swallow me when I notice her look of pity. I swallow them back, choking on every single one but refusing for Emma Scott to see me like this.
“Kayla…” She hesitates, taking a step closer as she observes the bruises on my neck. “Did he do this to you?”
“Oh my god,” I snort. “What the fuck is this? You want to start a charity for abused women or something? What do you want?”
Her eyes drop to the box in her hand. “Nate said you’d need this. Look, this…this is fucked.”
I shake my head, not believing what I’m hearing. “Are you alright? Do you know who I am? We’re enemies, Emma, why do you care what happens to me? Are you forgetting you’re the one who set me up for this?”
“I didn’t set you up for this.” She waves at my throat again. “Shit, I wanted the North Shore back, but I didn’t want…”
