Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
He stiffened at that and gave the coldest stare. “Are you done?”
“That’s what I fucking said,” I spat out. “Christ—now that I see you clearly, you’re so ugly.” I swallowed hard, painfully, hit by a wall of nausea that made my stomach churn and my mouth pool with saliva. “I hope you die alone,” I rasped. “I really do. And I’m sure I’m not the first one to say that to you. You’ve been down this road before. Eventually, we figure it out—because you’re good…but you’re not the mastermind genius you think you are—and we remember you as our biggest mistake. So, yeah. Go fuck yourself, get out of my life, and please die miserable and alone.”
I gnashed my teeth and needed him gone right now, before I broke down.
He clenched his jaw, and thankfully, he didn’t say another word. He knew there was nothing left to say. So he turned around and walked out, not bothering to close the door.
A whimper broke free, and I covered my mouth with my hand. The pressure was too tight around my chest, and my skin prickled like it sometimes did before panic set in.
“Wh—fuck!” I heard him shout. It was Marcus, down the hall. “You broke my nose, you rat bastard! I’m calling the police!” That part sounded muffled.
“On what grounds? Tripping into my fist? Get the fuck outta here before you trip again.”
Oh my God, what had Greer done?
I bent over and planted my hands on my thighs as my throat got thicker. It felt like someone was squeezing my windpipe from within, and each breath came out quicker and quicker. Shallower. Black spots filled my vision, and then I was drowning. Pulled under by a crushing wave of grief and anger.
I hated him!
I whimpered again. I tried to suck air into my lungs, but my body was simply too full. The pressure hurt and sent sparks of pain through my limbs. Reasoning with myself was out of the question. I knew damn well my body wasn’t full, and my lungs worked just fine. It was in my head as much as it was the physical reactions to my panic. So let me fucking breathe!
I forced out a strangled cry, needing to set off the meltdown. It was the only way to let it all out. I had to fall apart.
I barely reacted to Greer suddenly appearing before me. He was talking, but not to me. He was on the phone. And…hurgh. I gagged and stumbled back, not wanting him so close in case I threw up.
“I hate him,” I ground out.
“Corey, can you try to shut down?”
Fuck. That was Lane. Lane was here? Oh God.
“Go away,” I croaked. “I’m not supposed to shut down. That’s stupid!”
“Yeah, we’re on our way out,” Greer said quietly. “That’s fine. He could use that exposure too.” I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I had to shake it off.
“Listen to me.” Lane crowded my space and pulled me up, framing my face with his hands, and he wouldn’t fucking let me go. “This hunk of meat here is going to take you to Mclean. Try to go numb—don’t argue with me. I know it’s not good, but you can’t get the release you need here, Corey. The neighbors are gonna think someone’s being murdered.”
“I wanna scream,” I cried. “I have to get it all out.”
“I know.” He pushed some hair away from my forehead. “So go numb. Let Greer take you out of here. I’m pretty sure he can set you off later.”
I screwed my eyes shut and wanted my Daddy. I needed Sloan here.
Then Greer took over. The blurry sight of Lane disappeared, and Greer took up all the space. He picked me up like I was a child. He said things to me that barely registered. I didn’t like this, I didn’t like this, I didn’t like this! I needed to breathe. I needed room.
“Call me later, Corey,” I heard Lane say. “Sir, you trigger him with anger.”
“Don’t make me angrier!” I yelled. “I’ll fuck you up!”
“Anger—I think I can handle that.” Fuck the amusement in Greer’s tone. “Looking forward to getting to know you better, kid.”
I was gonna send messages to Marcus’s other Littles.
I didn’t know if it would do any good, but I had to try. I could include some information on how to recognize emotional abuse. Maybe it would at least raise some red flags or plant seeds of doubt.
Resting my head on the passenger’s side window in Greer’s work truck, I scratched some dirt off the glass with my finger, and I felt generally dead.
Some called moments of apathy a reprieve, and they were, in a way. Breathing wasn’t a chore. Nothing hurt. But nothing was good either. Everything was nothing. Apathy stopped me from feeling altogether, and that should terrify people.