“I’m fine. You can let go if you want to. I can manage on my own.”
“Never.”
I paused, stilled, and hesitantly glanced at him.
“I’m never letting go, Neon.” His brown eyes were a shade lighter than mine—more hazel with a honey tint compared to my darker color. I always thought his eyes were his most beautiful feature, while other women swooned over his boyish good looks and gigolo charm. Not to mention the tattoos that always seemed like a whore magnet. And walking with his dick on his forehead wasn’t exactly the kind of attribute I appreciated in a man—which was why he always annoyed the crap out of me. But he seemed different now. Darker. There had always been shadows hiding behind his quirky jokes and sexual innuendos. I saw it whenever he tried to act like he didn’t have past baggage like the rest of us. Maybe that was one of the reasons I kept my distance from him. I didn’t like the fact that he pretended to be something he wasn’t. But lately, he wasn’t pretending. He stopped pretending the day he picked me up off the pavement.
I still remembered, but only flashes. The pain. The bone crushing agony which was everywhere at once. And I remember him. His face, and the relief that melted away the fear when I felt him pick me up, telling me everything was going to be okay. Whispering the words,“I’m never letting go, Neon.”That was the moment I could finally let go of my strength and allow my body and mind to tap out—because I knew he was there. All of them were there. I was safe.
But now, while I stared into his eyes, I no longer felt safe. My heart was starting to break through the wall it had been sheltered behind almost all my life, and I couldn’t allow it.
Not now.
Not after…
I turned away, focusing my attention on the stairs I needed to conquer. On my own. “Maybe you should,” I muttered.
“What?”
I pulled my elbow out of his grip, steadying myself on the crutch, and moved up to the next step. “Let go. Maybe you should let go.” With effort and strained muscles, I hopped up the stairs, one step at a time. I didn’t look back, and he didn’t follow. He’d give up eventually. They always did. No man would endure one rejection after the other for long without their ego being bruised and battered. It was only a matter of time before Ink would let go and move on to an easier conquest. I was too damaged for him, anyway.
Ink’s affection was quick, fast, and short-lived. It lasted about as long as yesterday’s news.
“Neon,” he called after me, and I stopped as I reached the top of the stairs, now leaning heavily on my crutch. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I didn’t turn. I didn’t respond. And I sure as shit didn’t entertain the thought that his words meant something more than a guilt-induced reassurance.
Without saying a word, I showed him nothing but my back as I continued down the hall. It was only when I closed my bedroom door behind me that I exhaled, closing my eyes as exhaustion set in. I hated that I couldn’t even walk up a single flight of stairs without my body complaining with rapid breaths.
I hopped over to my bed and placed my crutch against the wall, then flopped down on the mattress. Glancing down at the brace that was like a motherfucking crucifix around my leg, I wondered if it would make a difference when I’d finally be able to move around with no restrictions. Would one healed injury make me feel better? Would it make me feel stronger, give me another notch in my survivor belt? Probably not.
I spotted the glass of water on my bedside table and immediately opened my drawer to find the one sleeping pill Alyx had left me. She refused to leave the whole bottle and appointed herself as the fucking pill-keeper around here. Gave me my pain meds when I needed it and left me a single sleeping pill every night. It was obvious she didn’t trust my PTSD ass around pills. But I was too much of coward to try to take my own life. I’d had a taste of what it would be like in hell, and there was no way I’d go back there willingly. I’d rather live through countless nightmares and a lifetime of haunting memories.
I pushed myself off the bed and carefully tried to make my way to the bathroom. Granite had my room renovated after everything, made sure I didn’t have to share a bathroom with anyone. Funny, it never bothered me before, sharing a bathroom with the guys. But when I walked into my room for the first time since my descent to hell, I was relieved and thankful for my own little private space.
Steadying myself by the bathroom sink, I pulled a make-up remover wipe from the bag and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t know the woman staring back at me with hair the color of mud and lifeless eyes.
Removing my make-up and revealing my scars always had my stomach feeling like I swallowed concrete. Even though the scars weren’t as bad as Doc and I had first thought they would be, they were still there. It was still burned into my skin, a constant reminder of what it felt like to be a goddamn human ashtray. I could still remember the pain, the sizzle, the stench of burning flesh. The way they laughed while I screamed, and the sight of cigarette butts on the floor beneath me, knowing what it felt like to have the coals smothered against my skin.
There were only three scars on my face—one just above my eyebrow, another on my left cheekbone, and one below my hairline on my forehead. The other scars were scattered around my body, but I never took the time to search for each and every one, counting them. I couldn’t look at my reflection for longer than a few minutes or stare at my body for long. The reminders were too powerful, and my wounds too fresh—even though months had passed already.
After wiping away the last smears of make-up, I hunched over, gripping the sink with only nine goddamn fingers. Who knew something as small as a fucking pinky could be missed? God, I was nothing but a broken canvas, a fucking shell filled with nothing but nightmares and horror. Even though I could feel my heart beat and my lungs expand with every breath, it still felt like I died that night. I was no longer alive; I merely existed. A shadow of the person I once was. A dark, broken, lifeless ghost stuck in a place where gravity no longer existed, where chains held me down, incapable of moving forward. My body didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore, and neither did my mind. Every time I laughed, I didn’t recognize the person behind the sound.
There was a knock on the door, and I pulled my shit together by straightening and wiping a palm down my face.
“Come in.” I stepped out of the bathroom and stilled when I saw Ink standing in the doorway. “Something wrong?”
He scoffed. “Is that a trick question?”
“What do you want, Ink?” I staggered over to the bed and popped the sleeping pill before facing him again.
“Still having trouble sleeping?”
“A little.”
“Nightmares?”
“Maybe. Um…what is it you wanted?”