Page 74 of Almost Ravaged

I can’t focus.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t claw my way out of the intrusive thoughts. The visions of blood on the ice. The need to strike and maim and lash out until—

“Je t'ai dit d'arrêter.”

I told you to stop.

Reaching past me, he turns the handle until icy water blasts out of the showerhead.

“Fuck,” I hiss. That finally does it. With a sharp inhale, I step out of the darkness and blink wildly, looking at my best friend. Despite the shock, it’s what I need to snap out of it.

As I focus on him, the violent images in my head dissipate, and the sounds around me grow clearer.

Atty doesn’t ask. He doesn’t even let the moment linger. It’s how we’ve coped for the last three years. Longer, really, because my brain came up with all kinds of fucked-up shit long before Sawyer and I pulled that trigger.

With one simple move, he stopped the darkness from locking me up in my own mind. I’d be more ashamed that I couldn’t control it myself if I wasn’t so fucking grateful for the assist.

If Sawyer is my purpose, Atty’s my true north. No one can help me course correct like he can.

“You’re good?” he asks.

I swallow thickly and nod.

“I’m going out with them on Thursday night, but you don’t have to.” He searches my face one more time, then turns on his heel, yelling at me to hurry up, complaining that he’s hungry.

The last bit is just for show.

I quickly wash my hair, not bothering to adjust the water temperature.

I have no interest in going out on Thursday. Or being anywhere near Swayzee unless it’s required.

The image of him bleeding out on the ice flashes through my mind, and I shudder. How the fuck my brain goes that dark that quickly is beyond me. I never act on it, but it’s nearly impossible to pull myself out of that state without help once I really start spiraling.

I’m wrecked. Ravaged by trauma. Used up and useless. So fucking broken I can’t even cut myself off when the tendrils of darkness wrap themselves around my mind and squeeze.

Fuck this.

Fuck Swayzee and every other man who’s ever looked at Sawyer and seen her as anything but perfect and flawless and out of their league andmine.

And fuck the asshole that shirt belongs to. I’ll figure that one out myself and ensure it never fucking happens again.

Thinking about that flannel again brings the rage inside me closer to the surface. But there’s one bright spot keeping it at bay: If Atty goes out on Thursday night, Sawyer and I might finally get some time alone.

Chapter twenty-seven

Sawyer

“Are you sure it’s okay for us to tag along?” Cam asks from the back seat.

Gravel crunches under the tires of the hatchback I share with Atty and Ty as I take in the nearly empty parking lot.

Good question.

With each second that ticks by, I worry further that my assumption was wrong.

“I haven’t been here in years.” Kai, who’s in the front seat beside me, leans forward to scope out the barn and the vista in the distance.