Page 62 of Shattered In Darkness

17

LOLA

THE PAST (AGED 18)

It’s after midnight. The house is silent, but I can’t breathe. Marcus’s voice still echoes in my bones. My mother is useless when it comes to Marcus. She doesn’t know what kind of sick monster he is.

My mind flashes back to earlier this night.

Steam curls around me in the bathroom. I let the hot water burn my skin, hoping it’ll wash off the night. Eyes closed, I can almost forget where I am.

The door creaks open. I freeze.

Marcus steps in without knocking. He doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, eyes dragging over me through the foggy glass. Too long. Too close.

My hands shake. I wish I could disappear into the tile. “Can you go?” My voice is small, brittle.

He smirks. “Hurry up, Lola. You’re hogging the hot water.” But he doesn’t leave right away.

When he finally does, my chest aches. I rush to get out.

Wrapped in a towel, I find my mom in her bedroom. She’s folding laundry, humming like nothing’s wrong.

“Mom,” I say, voice shaking, “Marcus came in while I was showering. He stared at me while I was naked. It was weird.”

She sighs;.doesn’t even look at me. “You’re being dramatic, Lola. I’m sure you’re imagining him looking at you, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Stop trying to get attention.”

I want to scream. I close my eyes and press my lips together until the sting fades. She never believes me. Not about anything.

I curl on top of the covers. My phone is a cold weight in my palm. I text Brody:

You awake?

Seconds pass. The clock blinks 2:17 a.m. My hands shake.

His reply is instant:

I am now. Come over. Door’s unlocked.

Relief cracks through the panic. I grab my phone. Quiet as a ghost, I step past my mother’s room. Outside, the grass is cold. I run next door, where his porch light is off. I find the back door, push it open.

Brody waits in the dark kitchen, arms crossed, eyes hungry but soften when he sees me. With no words, he leads me upstairs. His room is warm, safe. He sits on the bed and pulls back the blanket. I crawl in beside him, and he wraps an arm around me.

My eyes sting, but Brody doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t have to.

For now, I’m safe. For now, I’m home. Marcus can’t reach me when I am with Brody. Brody will never let anyone else touch me. I know it.

I curl tighter against him. His chest is bare, warm under my cheek. He smells like sleep and salty skin, like the nape of a neck just after a fight. I breathe him in slowly, like maybe I can keep the monster away if I just drown in the scent of Brody Voss.

“You okay?” His hand weighs heavy on my ribs. Possessive. It roots me in place—I don’t want to move, not ever.

I nod, but the truth aches hot behind my eyes.

I am so fucking tired of being scared. Of walking on eggshells. Of Marcus’s shadow in every room. Of never having a moment that’s actually mine.

I push closer, threading my arm across Brody’s waist. He tangles our legs under the blanket and I shiver. Not from cold, but from the way his thigh cages me in, the way he always makes me feel little, safe, contained. I want to tell him everything. All the things Marcus does. All the ways he watches me. All the times I want to scream but nobody listens.

Brody’s fingers slip under the edge of my shirt. Just barely. He drags his nails in lazy lines over my stomach. I tense, then melt.