Page 59 of Pretty Broken Wings

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” he says uncertainly.

“Sure.” I wave him off. I’m not crazy. I’m just… unbalanced.

The hum of the car gets quieter as he drives off.

I was stupid to go to Gage. I’m not sure why I did. We used to be inseparable, but ever since we were teens and that night at the party, things have been different between Gage and me. Before, it was like we were a team, and then after? I’m not sure whathappened after. After is when the rage started having nowhere to go. Where it started building and building until I couldn’t stop it.

I push my blunt fingernails into my palms, wishing they were sharper. Wishing they would draw blood.

I’ll just do this by myself because letting Raven go is no longer an option. That went out the window as soon as I saw Max’s letter. I put it so close to my face I could almost taste the cologne he must have sprayed on it. Fucking nasty. His handwriting was so sloppy I almost couldn’t read it, even with it at my face.

Max seems like someone who can’t use a pair of scissors. He writes like he’d yell at food service employees. Like he’s never lived a day where he’s afraid because of the actions of another.

He acts like Rich.

My stomach twists in unease. Max doesn’t get to make Raven afraid.

This won’t be easy. I’m going to have to sweep up someone’s mess because some goddamn stupid motherfucker made Raven afraid without also making her obsessed. Fear issomuch better. They gravitate toward you like a moth to the flame. So much better when they’re just out of reach but not far enough that they’re unattainable. Makes the chase fun.

So now I have to get Celeste Raven to trust me. Just enough that I can draw her back into my flame again and again and again. I’ll burn the tips of those broken wings if I have to, so that even if they heal, she’ll never be able to fly far from me. Because my wings are broken too, and I need her to stay close. Once I have her, she can never leave.

My pretty, broken obsession.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Axel handcuffed me to the bed. He fucking handcuffed me to the fucking bed. He said he’d be back as soon as he could, but it got dark out, and I screamed myself hoarse, letting the self-pity overtake me.

It didn’t work. I fought, and nothing changed.

How in the fuck do I have such bad luck? Like how did I fuck up so bad to be handcuffed to a man’s bed while being stalked by my ex?

At this point, it’s not bad luck. At this point, it’s gotta be something I’m doing wrong. My ancestors have to be looking down and shaking their heads. I’ll never have kids. This generational trauma ends here.

I’m exhausted, and my hand throbs. Earlier in the day, when I was alone, I punched the window trying to get out, and it popped something in my thumb. Then I tried throwing the dresser drawer at the window, but it split into pieces. Who the fuck knew glass was that strong? And, of course, the noise brought Axel into the room. I tried to hit him with the broken dresser, but he just wrestled me down and handcuffed me to the bed.

Instead of beating me, Axel just offered me food and water and then left. He didn’t yell at me, either. He didn’t even try to touch me other than to tie me down.

Clearly, Axel’s playing some kind of game that I don’t have the rule book for. But I’m gonna learn. Oh boy, am I going to learn.

I’m pretty sure Axel left the house because I heard a car door and then the sound of an engine pulling away.

That’s when I started screaming. No one came to help me, so I spent my time imagining ways I’m going to torture Axel once I get free. Tying him down and sticking toothpicks under his nails as he cries is my favorite idea so far.

I must have fallen asleep because I’m woken by the sound of the doorknob turning. I jerk up, straightening, blinking my dry eyes.

“Hey, little bird.” Axel raises his hands.

I struggle to prop myself up with my hands above my head. Axel stops in the doorway, watching me.

“Can I take those off?” He raises his eyebrow and nods at my hands.

I narrow my eyes on him. He approaches slowly, and I watch him, scanning him. He’s in a tight, button-down white shirt tucked into his slim waist. As he leans over me, I smell him now. He smells like…bacon?

It’s then that I smell the bacon coming from downstairs, and my stomach grumbles.

“There you go.” Axel removes the cuffs and backs away.

I sit up warily.