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Realistically, I know it’s a flashback, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t drag myself away from one of the worst nights of my life.
I wish I could say it didn’t get any worse than some cuts and cigarette burns, but I couldn’t walk for a week afterward. The things they did to me—the way they laughed at my cries, found my screams of agony amusing—and when I finally succumbed, when my body gave up from exhaustion and pain, they waited until I woke up to keep going.
They made sure I felt everything they did to me.
I’m vaguely aware of Ace’s gentle touch, his fingers wiping the tears I didn’t realize I was crying from my cheeks, but I’m too lost to find my way back to him.
His voice is just out of reach, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, only the worry in his tone.
Things were so good.
I was doing so well.
But just like I kept telling him, I’m broken. Too fucking broken.
The vision of Cyrus appears in my mind, tearing a ragged sob from my throat. “Please, no,” I cry, but I’m not sure if it’s out loud or in my own mind.
His cold eyes turn on me before he starts toward me. He’s angry. I’ve disappointed him with my tears.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, I chant to myself. I know better than this. I know better than to let my emotions get the best of me.
“I’ll do better. Please don’t hurt me.” Begging only makes him angrier, but I can’t help it. I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much.
“Mia,” the soft voice at the edge of my consciousness coaxes, but I can’t reach it. It’s too far away.
“You know better than to beg, pet.” Cyrus’s deep voice moves through my mind, so clear and distinct it’s like he’s right there alongside my own inner monologue.
I cower in on myself, doing what I can to protect myself from any more pain, but there’s nothing I can do to stop him. I’ve tried. Over and over again, I’ve desperately tried to keep myself safe, to stop him from hitting the parts of my body that are already too broken, but it never works.
I realized a long time ago if Cyrus wants to do something, he’s going to do it, and there’s no sense in trying to stop him.
Arms hold me close, their warmth holding my own personal version of hell at bay. “Sugar, come back to me.” The voice is faint, but it’s there, and I cling to it desperately.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but the body that holds mine doesn’t falter.
Soft words are murmured against my temple and eventually drag me back from the darkness.
Ace is cradling me against his chest, his lips against my temple, as he talks to me in hushed tones. It still shocks the hell out of me that he’s like this with me, because to everyone else, Ace has always been harsh, unfriendly, and mean even. The only other person who has ever seen the softer side of him is Tommy, and even then, it wasn’t often.
“I’ve got you, sugar,” he murmurs, and I find myself burying my face into his chest, holding on to his warmth like my only tether to my own sanity.
I knew I was fucking broken, but this just proves it. This just proves I’ll never be normal again and that Ace is better off without a burden like me.
The sooner I hand myself over to Kyle, the better off he’ll be.
I force my eyes open and take in the apartment around me. The clean lines. The stark white walls. The wooden features. I use everything I see to remind myself that I’m safe. That I’m not back in that house. That I’m not reliving the single worst night of my life.
There were a lot of bad nights, but that’s the one that I’ll never run from—the one that will feature in my nightmares until I take my final breath.
“There she is,” Ace murmurs, his palm warm against my cheek.
I’m still sitting on the edge of his desk, but at some point he pulled out of me. I can’t imagine having the woman that’s been nothing but a pain in his ass have a panic attack during sex is doing much for his libido right now.
The tears falling against my cheeks don’t seem to have an end, and the rough sobs tearing from my chest are painful. And yet I can’t get control of them. Because this is all the proof I needed that everyone is better off without me in their life.
Ace. Tommy. Clara. The Saint James family. I’m nothing but a burden to them, and that’s the last thing I want.
“Mia,” he whispers. “Look at me, sugar.”
