Page 58 of Dark Night of the Soul

But this wasn’t that. This was a theft.

This was a violation. This was erasure. This was breaking.

I flung the glass away, splattering the drink. It landed on the carpet with a dull thud and rolled away. Didn’t break. Because drinking it meant accepting this. Accepting what they’d done. And I would never accept that.

He sat in front of me, rigid. Not moving for a long time. I looked up at him and for one brief second that old fury flickered through his gaze. The kind that told me I was pushing him too far, and he was accepting it because that’s what he did. His jaw flexed once.

Then poured into the second glass and placed it in my hands, anyway.

“I don’t want it.” My voice was cold, calm. Calmer than I felt while the war raged inside.

“You should let me tend that cheek.”

Bandages wrapped around both of his wrists. I blinked at that, trying to comprehend.

He reached for me. I slapped his hand away.

Something cold flickered in the back of my mind. A reflex wanting to complete what I’d started. My muscles tensed, ready—

But the sedative kept it dulled. Distant. Like watching through thick glass.

His breath turned shallow.

“It looks swollen,” he said.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

And I didn’t. Nothing mattered. Not my broken cheekbone or the whiskey in my hands or the fact he was the one who got me out.

I looked down, back to the glass. Back to the shimmery amber there.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

“No one.”

“Lie. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes, dammit, Anna.”

“No,” I said again and meant it.

Because I knew what he’d do. I knew he’d hunt him down and tear him apart with his bare hands.

That was the blood I wanted on my hands.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He reached for me again. This time I didn’t slap him away. My body braced on instinct—waiting for pain that didn’t come.

He pulled away the bandage that did little to cover the wound.

His thumb landed on the cut across my cheek. A breath of a touch. Testing. I didn’t move.

Then he was gone. Banging cabinet doors. Then his booted footsteps as he returned and repositioned himself in front of me. There was a cloth in his hand.

He dabbed at my cheek. I flinched with the sting. My hand tightened around the glass in my lap.