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PROLOGUE
Dee
Masochist by Sophie Ann
I don’t know why I constantly try to find my validation through the attention of toxic men. Scratch that, Idoknow why, but I continue to ignore my gut instinct. I ignore what brutal experience has taught me, which is, everyone lies. Everyone is selfish.
Everyone leaves.
Even knowing this, having it proven again and again, I choose to hold on to the hope that maybe, justmaybe, the next one will be different.
The next one WILL be different.
I’m either stupidly optimistic or just a glutton for punishment. I’d like to agree with the saying that,ignorance is bliss,but that’s a fucking lie. My ignorance only leads me down the same road of fucked up mistakes, scars, and infinitely more trauma at the hands of these toxic men.
And they don’t make it easy, do they?
You see, the thing about toxic men is, they don’t go around introducing themselves as manipulative pieces of shit. I mean, sure, some do, but not the majority. No, they camouflage themselves. They hunker down, and lie in wait, blending perfectly and innocuously into their beautiful façade, luring you in with their thick, dark hair and sexy eyes, that make you feel like you’ve never been seen untiltheysee you. Their luscious lips and devious mouths, that do and sayallthe right things. Their strong, attentive hands, that make youfeelall the
right things.
And fuck, I so desperately want to FEEL something.
A n y t h i n g. Am I even capable of feeling anything anymore? Have I ever truly felt the things a normal person should feel? Or have I been broken beyond repair? Perhaps I’ve been broken from the start.
Well, anyway, by the time you’ve figured out their schemes, seen through their smoke and mirrors, it’s too late to try and break free. They’re already clutching you in their claws, as they remove their camouflage to inflict their pain, knowing damn well you can’t escape.
At least not without severe damage.
And I’m so damaged I wouldn’t even know what to do with a decent man if I found one. I don’t evenpretendto aspire for a good man. Jesus, what would that be like? Dogoodmen even exist? Or are they a fairytale made up for girls, by toxic men, to keep us looking? To keep us running straight into their destructive and cruel arms with hope, again and again.
All I know is I’ve never met one.
So, maybe I’m subconsciously staying on this fucked up merry-go-round so that I don’t have to wander, blindly, searching for a new ride that may or may not even exist but one I sure as hell have no idea how to operate. I stay in the fucked-up world I’ve been thrown into, the world I’ve nurtured, so that I don’t have to face my own self-camouflage and find my validation inside of myself, where deep down… I know I should.
Because where’s the fun in that?
I’d rather focus on the finger that’s pointing at someone else instead of the four pointing back at me. I would rather be a victim at the hands of someassholethan to admit that maybe I’m responsible too. Maybe I have some blame in how I turned out. How mylifehas turned out. Maybe I’m just as fucked up as these toxic men.
And so, here I am again, sitting across from a pair of deep, chocolate brown eyes, that seem to appraise me and worship me under their roaming, appreciative gaze, desperately hoping and praying that there’s not something camouflaged and lurking behind that teasing smile and those sexy dimples. No, this one WILL be different.
Little do I know…he’s going to be the worst one yet.
Dee
I Can’t Sleep by Autumn Kings
I jerk awake with a gasp, choking on a scream that’s lodged in my throat. I push myself up off my stomach until I’m sitting on my knees. I reach a shaking hand up to my left cheek, gingerly touching it, before I pull my hand away and stare at it. I blink once, twice, three times, trying to pull myself back into reality. I expect to see blood. It felt so real.
It always feels so real.
Fuck this nightmare and its vivid intensity. Even though I can’t remember everything, and all I get are glimpses, I still wish my mind would repress the memory like it has with so much of my childhood. I mean, I remember bits and pieces of growing up, but not nearly as much as I should. What I do remember is enough to confirm that what I refuse to remember must be beyond fucked up. My mind has taken pieces…no, chunks…of my life and locked them up inside Fort Knox.
So why not this memory too?
I sigh and drop my hand into my lap, rubbing at the ache in my wrists as I look around. I’m kneeling in the middle of my full-size bed in my tiny studio apartment. Light is filtering in through the open curtains of the one window in this shithole. I must have fallen asleep while I was attempting to get some work done. Sure enough, my laptop lies open and forgotten beside me.
I run my hands down my face in frustration. “Typical, Dee. Typical,” I shake my head as I climb out of bed.
