Her rage crumbled. Tears replaced it. She apologized. Sobbed. Said she didn't mean to. Said I made her do it. Said she was broken and scared and in love.
And just like that—I was back in the cycle.
I reassured her. Promised her everything she needed to hear. Swore December was nothing. Mira wiped her tears, nodded because she believed me. I walked home pretending to be tired. But I didn't go home.
I walked two more blocks to a coffee shop, went into the restroom, locked the door—and cried and cried until my chest hurt.
I cried for the man still getting hit by a woman. I cried for the coward too scared to stop it. I cried for the liar who thought love could be hidden like shame.
I cried for December.
And I cried because for the first time—I believed Mira.
Iwasstupid.
I was just muscle and mistakes.
A dumb dog that keeps going back to the leash. A pathetic shell of a man—fragile, fucked up, and so in love with someone I swore I'd protect... only to end up destroying her instead...
Chapter 9: When the Dam Broke
(Ryder)
I left the coffee shop long after the crying stopped. My eyes were raw, lips chapped from all the shaking. The air felt different, like even the sky was heavier. When I got out, I found my friend Spence just outside his car holding a paper bag in hand. One look at me, and the smile faded from his face.
"Jesus, man," he muttered. "You okay?"
"No," I said honestly. "I don't think I've been okay in a long time."
He didn't press. Just nodded and opened the passenger door.
"Come on. Mel is home. We'll talk there."
Their house smelled like cinnamon and coffee. Warm. Safe. Mel was already pouring tea before I even sat down.
"Rough day?" she asked softly.
I nodded, my throat too thick to speak.
"You look like hell, bro," Spence added, trying to lighten the mood.
I laughed, cracked and hollow. "Feels worse than it looks."
It didn't take long. A few sips of tea, the warmth seeping into my hands, a steadying breath... and then the dam broke. The words tumbled out like stones I'd been carrying in my chest for years. I told them everything.
Mira. Her sharp smiles that cut deeper than any knife. Her stalking, the way she appeared in the edges of my life, like a shadow I couldn't shake. The abuse—emotional, relentless, subtle in ways that left invisible scars. The fear that had nested in my chest, curling tight around my ribs. The bruises I'd hidden under long sleeves, the ones I'd convinced myself weren't visible, weren't important enough to mention. The nights I flinched awake in my own bed, heart hammering, drenched in sweat, thinking she might appear, that somehow I'd done something wrong.
I confessed the shame too—the shame I swallowed every time someone murmured, "You're lucky to have a woman like her," as if her brilliance justified everything I'd endured. As if my pain was somehow smaller because hers was loud, because hers was celebrated.
I spoke of the hollowing out of my soul, the way I had become cautious, quiet, invisible. The way I had learned to smile while dying inside, to laugh while the truth of what I had endured clawed at my chest.
I didn't pause for breath, didn't measure my words. I let it all pour out—the terror, the humiliation, the endless nights of questioning myself. The voices in my head that had whispered I was weak, unworthy, replaceable.
By the time I was done, my hands were shaking, my chest heaving, my tears a mess on the table. Mel didn't interrupt once. Spence leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"You were hit?" he asked finally. "Like... more than once?"
"Yeah," I whispered. "Too many times to count."
