Page 49 of Pretty Broken Wings

As soon as he rolls out of me, he goes back to the bathroom. I’m squeezing my eyes shut, but I can still tell he came inside me. My legs are sticky. The monster is screaming that I’ll have to get up. I’ll have to pee so I don’t get a UTI.

But I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to wake up ‘cause I can feel the shame burning against my skin.

You’re a coward. You let this happen. This is your fault.

I bury my head under my pillow and focus on the wetness between my legs. The pleasure. Anything but reality.

I put the book down for the third time today. I can’t focus anymore. Usually, I read, but I haven’t been able to get through this book at all, and I’ve been trying all week, which pisses me off ‘cause the book is right up my alley. It’s about a badass woman who takes control of her dad’s mafia empire.

I stare at the cover, trying to find a reason to blame the book. Maybe it’s the writing style? The chapters are too long?

But deep down, I know it’s because I’m tired. Max hasn’t stopped waking me up. The thought makes nausea run through me.

Where’s all the courage I had when I told him to stop? Was ready to fight him? Instead, at night, I’m just a scared little girl. A coward. I can’t make him stop. It’s like I’m frozen. Because if I freeze, he’ll eventually finish and leave me alone.

I know some part of me should be angry. Should be deeply, irreparably angry. But for some reason, it’s like the anger is sitting behind a glass wall, and all I can do is look at it. Right now, all I want to do is pretend like I don’t exist. Maybe if I wear my clothes to bed, he won’t want to do it. Maybe if I don’t say anything, he won’t continue.

I stare at the book cover. It has a fierce-looking woman on the front, her hair blowing in front of her face. I have a sudden, intrusive thought: she wouldn’t allow this kind of behavior.

Shame washes over me, and with it, a lick of anger.

Fuck it. Saying something can’t make things any worse.

I grab my phone and send Max a text.

Me: Hey. Can you fall asleep with your hand on my back or legs? Just not on my kitty; I can’t sleep. Thanks!

I drop the phone, my heart beating quickly for the first time in a week. A response comes back quickly.

Max: Oh, sure! My bad, no problem.

A week later, I’m woken up again with his hand between my legs. And this time, I don’t sink back into that welcoming numbness. The woman on the cover of my book stares at me from my nightstand, daring me to stand up for myself. Daring me to be what she is.

And that’s where my anger was finally born. Like a shield, it rose up around me, burning so hot no one could come near me. So no one could hurt me. Not even the people who say they love me.

Especially the people who say they love me.

I leave Max that night. Screaming and throwing things around, embracing the anger that’s been building for my entire life.

It’s time for a new Celeste. A new me.

Raven.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I’ve lost it. Full-on lost control of my actions, ripping at the bedding, throwing the bedside lamp, and banging on the windows. Nothing fucking helps. It doesn’t fucking do anything except to spark a tiny bit of something in Axel’s eyes before it’s soothed over again.

Fighting with Max got me away for a few months, and now he’s stalking me. What will fighting with Axel do?

But there’s no stopping now. No stopping until I get away. Until I find a place where there are no people and hide there for eternity.

I shake, looking around the room again. It’s sparse, with a dresser, a bed, and a closet. Almost like he planned this.

Fuck, he planned this.

Axel just sits against the door, eyes partially closed. Every time I move, he glances at me out of the corner of his eye. Otherwise, he just sits there. Doing nothing.

My heart is going so fast that I feel nauseous. I don’t have my knife. I don’t have my purse. I don’t haveanything. He took it from me. Just like he took my freedom. Just like he’ll take what he wants from me, and I won’t be able to stop him.