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“You’re not ruined. You are not broken. You survived something that was absolutely shit, hummingbird. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

She’s killing me, this girl.

Chapter 10

Shudder

TRUIE

I am so fucking tired of this. So tired.

I never thought I’d be interested in sex again, let alone feel my belly tighten with desire.

I didn’t think I’d be capable of wanting someone, of allowing myself to be vulnerable in the way that being naked in front of another person requires. That I could feel the promise of an orgasm build and begin to coil, winding me tight.

And, just like that, the brakes were stomped, and all the bad shit came roiling back up to the surface.

So fucking tired of this.

I don’t even know where my mind was. The only thing going through my head was how strong Teague is. How safe I feel with him. How normal it all was.

I felt good for the first time in a stupid long time. Very good. Better than I’d ever felt. Because, in my vast sexual experience, I’ve never had an orgasm.

My encounters have been limited to a single instance of fumbling teenage sex in the backseat of his mom’s car where he got off and I had to question whether it even counted, and traumatic, often violent rape. It was rape. Every time and in every way, it was rape.

So, so tired.

But this? Today? With Teague? This was different.

And I ruined it.

I mean, how do I come back from a near breakdown over the scars covering my thighs? Because forcible sex wasn’t enough for the bastards who had me at their mercy, so they left behind permanent reminders of the havoc they wreaked. Fine ridges, almost like a barcode in some places. In others, the lines are a random crisscross from different days, different moods. Always the same man.

Strong arms wrap me in a tight embrace, grounding me instead of caging me. “Hummingbird, you cry for as long as you need to, wash that shit away. But don’t shed tears for my sake. What happened is in the past, you had no say in what was done to you. When you’re ready, if you want, we’ll find someone to help you work through it all.”

For some wild reason, that is the tipping point. But instead of allowing the dark to take me, drag me to its depths, and swallow me up, I laugh. It’s really small, that first laugh. Really small. And I think it shocks both of us, because it’s Teague who goes stock-still, not me.

“Can you tell me why we’re laughing? And is this just a you thing or am I supposed to be finding this funny as well?”

With the way he goes rigid, I know he’s pulled back enough that he can see me. He’s waiting for a sign, permission, maybe for the bottom to drop out and for me to completely lose it.

At this point, anything’s possible, but weirdly, I think I’m okay-ish.

I’m mostly naked, my soul laid almost as bare as my ass, orgasm failed, and leaking tears all over the man I literally thought was just a dream. Yay, me.

As my body expands, my lungs filling completely, the steely arms surrounding me remain steady.

“You can laugh if you want.” I stay where I am, face pressed against Teague’s chest and glance to the side hoping my discarded shirt is within reach.

“What do you need? You’re after something.”

This just keeps getting better. If I were still wearing a shirt, I’d tuck my face inside and wipe away the tears and snot. But past-me was feeling all kinds of confident, and a certain kind of way, and tossed that balled-up, baby-soft cotton across the bed. Shit shit shit.

“I need a tissue,” I reply, my voice muffled against him.

“A what, now?”

“A tissue. My face is a mess and⁠—”