Page 47

New clothes.
The concept is so foreign and unexpected that I can’t process it.
“I—I can’t,” I stammer, trying to hand the bag back. “I don’t have money for?—”
“It’s taken care of,” Blaze cuts me off, his voice gentle but firm. “Consider it part of protective custody.”
I stare at the bag in my hands, overwhelmed. My current clothes are threadbare, stained, and barely holding together. Rent is always late, and the luxury of new clothes is so far down on my list of priorities it might as well not exist.
Even washing what I have is a struggle—a quick rinse in the sink, hung to dry overnight, and hoping for the best. This simple act of kindness—or duty, or whatever it is—threatens to undo me completely.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with an emotion I can’t quite name. I hold the bag of clothes close to my chest like it’s a precious gift.
Blaze nods, his eyes soft. “The shower’s all yours when you’re ready.”
As he leaves, Aria watches me, her expression unreadable. For once, she doesn’t comment, and I’m grateful for the silence.
I clutch the bag to my chest, feeling the unfamiliar texture of new fabric against my fingers. It’s just clothes, I tell myself, but deep down, it’s more than that. It’s a tiny glimpse of a world where people care, where kindness exists without strings attached.
Andthat, more than anything else that’s happened, terrifies me.
While I expect Aria to take her shower in the master suite, she heads for the one down the hall. It’s more luxury than I’m used to, and I feel incredibly out of place.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me. I stand there, frozen, staring at the gleaming shower stall. When was the last time I had a proper shower? The concept feels as alien as the soft clothes in my arms.
I fumble with the taps, flinching as water sputters to life. Steam rises, filling the small space. The scent of real soap, not the harsh stuff from public restrooms, hits me like a punch to the gut.
Slowly, I peel off my grimy clothes. They fall to the floor in a heap of stains and memories I’d rather forget. The warm water hits my skin, and I gasp. It’s almost too much—the heat, the pressure, the sheer luxury of it all.
My fingers trace over an array of bottles: shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. The words might as well be in a foreign language. I uncap one, inhaling deeply. The fresh, clean scent makes my eyes sting.
I scrub at my skin, watching as layers of dirt swirl down the drain. It feels like I’m shedding more than grime—like I’m washing away years of neglect, survival, and invisibility.
When I step out of the shower, I feel raw and exposed in ways that have nothing to do with being naked. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
The bruises stand out starkly against my now-clean skin, a map of the ordeal I’ve been through, but it’s not the bruises that hold my attention.
It’s the person staring back at me.
I don’t recognize her at all.
But I do recognize the small, circular scar just below my collarbone. Can’t wash that away. It’s a scar I’ve had for years,one I usually keep hidden. One that matches the bite mark on Bruiser’s throat.
It was a gift from him. The memory intrudes without warning.
A condemned building. The stench of stale beer and sweat. A girl crying in the corner, no older than twelve. Bruiser, younger but no less cruel, his eyes gleaming with sick anticipation.
“Take me instead,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “Let her go.”
The memory claws at me, threatening to drag me under. I dig my nails into my palms, the sharp pain anchoring me to the present.
I was fourteen. Just a kid myself, but in that moment, I became a shield, a sacrifice.
Bruiser took me, hard and rough, ripping my virginity from me like it meant nothing, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He stood over me, lording over his victory, and then… And then he charged the other boys five bucks a piece to have a go with me.
Bile rises in my throat. I lurch toward the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left but bitter acid and rage. Bruiser. The boy who stole my innocence locked me in a cage.
Will I ever be free of him? Hatred, hot and vicious, surges through me. It burns away the fear and the self-loathing, leaving behind a core of molten steel.