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Nothing to prevent me from doing what I was about to do.
As calm as a storm about to tear a city apart, I stepped into her and grabbed her right wrist.
She didn’t fight me.
She sucked on her bottom lip as I used the hem of my hideous shirt to wipe away the thick concealer. Redness appeared. Faint streaks of purple. The first bloom of blue.
I wanted to be sick.
Despair splashed like acid on my tongue.
I’d failed her.
I’d fucking failed her that night and all the other nights she’d struggled.
Once every inch of make-up was removed, I let her go.
Silence throbbed around us.
I trembled so hard my teeth clacked as I reached for her left wrist.
She hung in my hold, meek and submissive.
Silent tears coursed down her cheeks as I wiped her gently. As gently as I possibly could, removing her attempts at hiding. Choosing right here, right now, to do what I’d begun to suspect she needed.
I didn’t want to do it.
It would butcher me into irreparable pieces.
It would probably cost me my life.
But I would do absolutely anything if it made her whole again.
My ears rang as another blush of red, streaks of blue, and the faintest smudge of black marked her no-longer healed wrists.
The bruises Ethan had given her had faded. She’d used the same make-up to hide what he’d done over the past few weeks.
But these...these were so fresh they glowed.
Every part of me howled.
I honestly didn’t know how I stood so still and didn’t crumple at her feet.
My voice resembled a slab of granite as I strangled, “You hurt yourself.”
Sniffing back her tears, she encircled her wrist and nodded. “I thought...about what you said. About the bruises on my heart not healing like the ones on my skin. I hoped...” She sighed and shook her head. “I thought if I could see those bruises, then I could figure out a way to heal them. I can rub arnica into these. I can hide these. I can press against them and make them hurt, and it stops my mind from going back to that bed with him tying me down and—” Her breath caught; she cried quietly. “It was a stupid idea, but...I just needed an outlet. I wanted to feel pretty, even though I’m damaged. I wanted to feel beautiful, even though being beautiful is what got me hurt. He went after me because he found me beautiful, and...I wanted to reclaim that part. I wanted to dress up and not be afraid that if I wore a short skirt or dared to put on eyeshadow that I wouldn’t invite another monster to rape—”
Her sobs stole the rest of her words.
My arms snarled to wrap around her.
My entire nervous system stung and snapped to gather her close and give her somewhere safe to shatter.
But I fought those urges.
Those urges were wrong.
I’d tried to help Neri her way...yet it’d only made things worse.
There was another way.
A way that I doubted any psychologist would approve of or ever agree might be necessary for those far too brave to break.
But I had first-hand experience.
So many times, I dreamed of drowning.
So many nights, I begged to die.
If I had been braver, I would’ve walked into the sea and let it take me, if only to escape the soul-crushing guilt that I’d done nothing to save my family.
The family that’d died because of me.
But I hadn’t been brave.
I hadn’t returned to the source of my agony, so that agony kept on fucking oozing.
But Neri...
I could take her back to that source.
I could throw her back into those nightmares and give her a different ending.
Nausea rushed up my throat as I breathed, “You should’ve come to me, hayatim.” The alcohol in my system grew more potent. I felt loose and petrified but also fierce and resolved.
“I tried.” Her wet eyes met mine. “You said—”
“If you told me you needed pain, I would’ve given you pain.”
She frowned through her tears. “No, you wouldn’t. You would never hurt me.”
I shifted a single step into her, pressing her against the door with sheer force of presence, even though no part of me touched her. “Are you so sure about that?”
I shouldn’t do this here.
I should take her back to my room where at least we had a few walls and the garden between us and her parents.
But...the alcohol whispered this was wise.
The depression hissed this was necessary.
And the stark fear clawing at my heart made recklessness supersede any and all self-preservation.
I didn’t care about myself.
I only cared about her.
And I’d failed her.
Over and over again.
I won’t fail her now.
Her eyes narrowed, dancing and searching mine. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I know how it feels to be trapped by who you are, trapped by what happened, trapped with no way of getting free.”
“Aslan, I—”
“Tell me what you need, Neri.”
