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A sound like a wounded animal claws its way up my throat, and I feel Cortland’s arms around me, but I’m trying to get away from him, trying to run.

Someone else’s hands find me, firm and strong around my back. I’m pulled into someone else’s lap, and I bury my head in someone else’s hard chest. The smell of leather.

Cortland is at my back, enveloping me in his scent, too, his arms tight around me. “Shh, baby,” he’s saying as I sob into Storm’s chest. “Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay, baby.”

“She needs to sleep,” Storm’s low words, rumbling against my ear. “She’s exhausted.”

But I barely register their words. In my mind, I’m walking into my house that morning. My head hurts, and my body hurts, and everything fucking… hurts.

There’s a lump in my throat. I close the door at my back. The house feels empty. The garage doors were closed, and I just parked outside of them.

My heart is… hollow.

It’s really over.

It’s all really over.

I’m covered in dirt, and I see it under my nails. Pressure builds behind my eyes as I hang my head, facing the door.

I want to scream.

I want to call someone.

I want to go to sleep and never wake up.

I’m empty.

I’m hollow.

I’m just a shell.

“Where were you last night, Remi?”

My stepdad’s voice causes me to jump.

My heart leaps into my chest.

I’m screaming.

Out loud. Here, in this moment, I’m screaming, and someone is gripping my jaw tight as my eyes fly open and I’m nose-to-nose with Storm.

I think of him watching me that night, and I wanted Cortland to tell everyone to stop. To leave me alone. Leave me alone, I’m just yours.

I try to scramble away from Storm on the couch.

“It’s not real,” he’s saying, his words low, his grip on my face firm but not painful. “It’s not real, Remi. It’s not fucking real.”

It is, though.

In my head, it’s all so real. It’s all so vivid.

“I’m not yours,” I whisper, trying to get away. “I’m not yours.”

His fingers are splayed along my jaw, and he glances behind me. Panic seizes through me and I stop trying to pull back. I stop trying to run.

I start to fight.

I shift on my knees on the couch, wrap my hands around Storm’s throat.

He’s frozen beneath my touch, his body stiff.

I lean in close to him, his hand still on my jaw.

“I’m not fucking yours.” The words don’t sound like me. They’re a low growl. Like an animal.

I pull back, only to slam my temple against his, the pain making my eyes water but I don’t care.

“I’m not fucking yours!” I scream those words, and in my head, I’m not staring at Storm’s blue eyes anymore.

I see my stepdad’s dark ones.

I see Chase’s.

Brinklin’s.

I shove Storm away, hitting at his chest as hard as I can, then snatching his wrist, pulling his hand from my face.

He lets go, never looking away from me. But adrenaline is building past my exhaustion and my fear and anger is thrumming hot under my skin. I get off the couch, backing up, the coffee table scraping against the hardwoods as I do. I turn to it and snatch the beer bottle.

“Remi.” Cortland’s words. He stands, dipping his chin, arching a brow. “Don’t do that,” he says, holding up one hand, like he can placate me.

I step back, moving the table again, gripping the bottle by the neck, my chest heaving as my eyes lock on Cortland’s.

My lips pull back in a snarl, and I lift the bottle, wanting to throw it at his head. Wanting to hurt him like he hurt me.

Like he broke my heart.

He broke my fucking heart.

My chest caves, my face hot, and I throw the bottle, turning at the last minute, sending it sailing to the TV, that fucking horror movie still playing.

The bottle shatters against the television, but it keeps playing, and it isn’t enough. A cry leaves my lips as I squat down to flip the table but Cortland’s arms band around me, holding me tight.

I keep struggling, trying to rip away from him, but my ankle twists and I trip, sending both of us falling to the floor.

His arms around me protect me from any real damage and when we hit the hardwoods with a thud, he rolls so I’m on top of him, him on his back.

His hands are around my forearms, pinning them down.

I kick my feet, but then Storm is there, his fingers wrapped around my shins, pressing down, so I can’t move.

“Baby,” Cortland says in my ear, “just breathe.”

My eyes lock on Storm’s, and I’m still fighting, like I didn’t before. Like I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. I was hollow.

Numb.

Broken.

I was stupid.

“I’m not anymore,” I say, staring at Storm. “I’m not stupid.” My voice breaks. I try to kick, try to get out of Cortland’s grip, but he doesn’t let me go. “I’m not fucking stupid. I’m not. Fucking. Stupid.” Tears well up behind my eyes, and I close them, unable to look.

Because I might not be stupid anymore, but I’m not brave either.

I’m not anything.

“I’m nothing.” I whisper those words so quietly, I don’t know if they heard, and I don’t care as I go still in Cortland’s arms. “I’m nothing.”

Cortland bands his arms around me, keeping mine down. But he uses his abs to sit up, pulling me to his chest, Storm’s hands still on my shins as he crouches over me, my eyes flying open, connecting with his.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Cortland says in my ear. “Don’t ever fucking say that again.” He keeps one arm around me, but grabs my chin, turning me to face him.

And I’m there again.

But it’s okay.

Because he’s holding me. He’s soft, and he’s nice, and he’s keeping me present.

Because even in the middle of everything, in the worst moment of my life, he was gentle. He made me think I was insane. How could someone so kind do something so fucking horrible?

And why do I still want him? How can I still crave him?

“You’re everything,” he whispers, his words fierce, his tone angry. His thumb traces my bottom lip as I try to breathe, inhaling his scent. “You’re everything, Remi.”

I swallow, closing my mouth, and his grip changes, against my jaw like Storm’s was. He pulls me closer, his lips crashing against mine. He devours me, and a sob leaves my mouth, pouring into his.

He takes it.

All of my pain.

He takes it.

And Storm doesn’t let go either, grounding me as he watches me kiss his best friend.

We fucked each other up.

We fucked each other over.

Another sob leaves me, but Cortland takes it, his tongue twirling with mine.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers into my mouth, “just let it go.”

I do, crying as I kiss him until I can’t breathe and I can’t cry anymore.

I’m not a shell, though. Not like I was after that night.

I’m not empty. Not numb. Not hollow. And I didn’t even need to bleed.

And when Cortland finally lets me go, then carries me like I’m a child, my arms around his neck, head nestled against his chest, just like that night, I know I’m full.

Of feelings, of trauma, of everything.

But I’m not numb.

At the very least, I’m not that.

Still, as he lays me in his bed, pulls off my shoes, and tugs me close to him, his arms wrapped protectively around me, I’m not sure that’s a much better feeling.

I wake up to an irritating buzzing noise, like a gnat or a fly.

My eyes feel heavy, my throat thick with sleep, and I’m not ready to get up.

Not ready to move at all. But the sound doesn’t stop.

It’s vibrating near my head, and as I pry my eyes open, see faint streams of light filtering in through Cortland’s dark gray curtains, my gaze narrows in on the source of the noise.

Cortland’s phone, a few inches from my face, on the king-sized mattress.

For a second, I have to remember where I am.

What I did.

The library flashes in my mind.

The movie.

The panic.

Storm and Cortland both comforting me.

I feel sweaty, heavy, and sluggish as I reach my hand out for Cortland’s phone, the screen flashing. It’s then I realize his arms are still around me, and he’s breathing deep and even at my back.

A smile graces my lips before I can bite it back, despite last night. The bottle shattering. The movie. The fear. Storm.

Cortland.

“You’re everything.”

In this moment, exhausted, but warm and safe in Cortland’s arms, I feel something like elation.

My fingers close around Cortland’s vibrating phone, and I pull it toward me to flip the sound off.

But Maya’s name flashes across the screen.

It’s eight in the morning, and she’s calling him.

My stomach drops.

The call ends, showing it’s the third time she’s called.

But the screen, with the background of fall mountains at sunrise, shows something else too.

Text message previews.

And there are several from Maya.

I feel sick, and I close my eyes a second, not wanting to know. Not wanting to look. It’s not my business. We aren’t together.

But what I said last night is true, and I know it now.

I’m not stupid.

My eyes fly open, and I swallow, my mouth dry as I prop up the screen, take in the message previews.

A lot of all caps.

A group message from Chase and Brinklin that I don’t read, because my eyes focus in on one from Maya. The most recent one.

Maya

Let me make you feel good again.

Below that…

Maya

It was hot when Storm walked in. I’d let him watch me give you head all the time.

I feel sick, my stomach convulsing.

And one more.

Maya

Love you, Cort.

With a dozen heart emojis.

I just keep staring at the screen until it goes dim.

Then I clench my fingers around it so hard, it hurts. I sit up, shrugging out of Cortland’s grip, my pulse too fast in my chest. My head. My throat.

The phone lights up again, and I see Maya’s name one more time.

I take a breath, then hurl his phone across the room.

It hits the wall with a clatter, and I feel the bed shift as Cortland bolts upright, my name the first word out of his mouth.

I don’t look at him.

I throw back the covers, then my bare feet hit the wooden floors. They creak beneath me as I reach down, snatching the phone from the floor, right beneath the window.

I slam it against the windowsill.

Over. And over.

And over.

I think about last night. Cortland manipulating me by offering me the phone.

I smash it against the wooden sill again.

It feels good, watching it crack, my heart racing, my hair falling down in my face.

Cortland is saying my name again, angrier this time, but I don’t care.

I smash his phone again.

And again.

And—

His hand comes around my wrist. He’s crossed the room and I didn’t even notice, anger loud in my head.

“That’s enough, Remi.” His words aren’t even harsh.

He’s quiet, like he doesn’t care. His shirt is off, eyes sleepy as I let him take his ruined phone, and I yank out of his grip, stumbling back a step.

I windmill my arms, staying upright as I shove my hand through my hair, yanking it out of my face.

His eyes are narrowed as he stares at his screen, dim now, because I broke his phone.

“You deserve that,” I tell him, backing away, glancing at my shoes by the door. “And you deserve her.”

“You gonna go cut yourself again, baby?” he asks me quietly, setting his phone down, his eyes holding mine as I shove my shoes on. “Go bleed for me instead of facing your pain? Instead of opening your pretty mouth and talking?”

I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. “Fuck you, Cortland. Fuck. You.” I spin around, throw open his door and listen as it bangs against the wall.

“Remi,” Cort calls behind me. “Don’t fucking go. Don’t fucking hurt yourself.” I hear his footsteps.

I take another step out, until I’m in the narrow hallway.

“Baby, I just woke up. Can you give me five fucking seconds to figure out why you’re?—”

I spin around. “I’ll give you more than five seconds. I’ll give you an eternity .” Then I turn from him and I’m heading for the stairs. I look up, and my eyes meet Storm’s.

He’s staring at me, shirtless, and I have to force myself to hold his gaze instead of trail my eyes over his body.

“She doesn’t mean anything to him.”

My mouth falls open, anger making it hard to speak. I grab the railing for the stairs, heart thudding too loud in my chest. Like he thinks that makes it better. If anything, it’s worse. “You both are un-fucking-believable.”