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I steal one last breath of him before gently prying his arms away from me.

“I should go.”

He doesn’t respond, only watches me as I gather my things. His gaze follows my every movement, yet he doesn’t make a move to stop me.

Why am I angry at him for not stopping me when I’m the one who wants to leave?

He doesn’t utter a word and I quietly close the door behind me as I leave his penthouse.

SEVEN

Elara

Humans are fragile.

Breakable.

Mere words can wound a soul far deeper than a bullet ever could to a body.

Some people don’t need violence to destroy you. A sweet smile can do it. A gentle touch. A cruel touch. An unwanted touch. A mere fucking touch.

I’ve always preferred the idea of a quick death. Falling down the stairs and snapping my neck before my brain has time to register the pain. Or getting hit by a car and dying on impact.

Anything but the slow kind. The one that chips away at you one day at a time until there’s so little left of you that no one notices you’re already gone.

Every day, I die a little more. One step at a time. I keep walking towards a finish line I never meant to cross, confident that if I move fast enough, death will eventually meet me halfway.

However, each step is agonising to the heart and invisible to the eyes.

I want it to end.

End it. End it. End. It.

My hands are moving on their own as I scrub my body over and over again. I want to remove the thought of those groping hands.

It was my fault to leave the house.

“Does Amara know?”

“I’ll let Amara know where you are.”

“Stop using the damn knife if you don’t know how to use it, Elara.”

“It’s your fault.”

My fault. My fault. My fault.

My skin burns and the redness is concealed by the suds of shower gel. Not that it would make me stop.

There’s a voice in my head that’s telling me it’s hurting and I should stop. But I’m torn between trying to listen to her and removing the feel of that bastard’s ugly touch.

Or how ugly his touch made me feel.

Pain; it doesn’t go away with soap and water. Violation doesn’t wash down a drain. I have to purge it from inside, from my blood.

No.

I don’t want to do this, it hurts every time and scars and I love wearing shorts and people will see.