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I didn’t know what to say to that. Happiness didn’t exist here. Not with Malakar. Or with my father. Or with Brandon. Or anywhere. I closed my eyes and tried to picture happiness. Nothing came. Just the soothing dark, his breath in my hair.

“I don’t care how you do it,” he murmured, voice rough from screaming and crying. “I don’t care if you want to pretend I’m Milo. Or someone else. As long as you’re here.”

The addiction was eating me alive. Every time he touched me, part of me retreated and the other part rushed in, desperate to feel good, even if it meant being ruined.

He spooned me from behind. His chest was a wall at my back, his legs tangled in mine. There was no escape unless I screamed myself hoarse or stabbed him. I didn’t want to do either. Not right now.

“You did so good,” he whispered, softer now. Something like pride gleaming under the words. “You’re the only one who ever stayed. The only one who ever knew how to bring me back.”

“It hurts sometimes,” I confessed. “Inside. All the memories, the old voices. My father. My ex. The dark. You.” My voice went tight. “Sometimes I think I’m already dead and this is hell.”

He didn’t flinch. “Me too.” He brushed my hair back from my face, gentle and shaking. His lips pressed to the side of my head. “It’s okay, bluebird. You don’t have to talk. Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

I wanted to believe him. But, everyone goes somewhere, eventually. Even the monsters who wept.

Chapter 26

Craving Him

Starla

When I awoke, I vomited everywhere. I couldn’t get to the bathroom, there wasn’t one attached to this bedroom. There was nothing to use to change the sheets. I was still naked from when Malakar fucked me.

So, I lay in the pool of my own vomit, feeling like death.

I wasn’t sure why I was vomiting. Perhaps it was the sickness inside of me? This guilt and shame of being with Malakar in that way consensually, of knowing how wrong it was. I couldn’t believe I let him do those things to me willingly.

It was the heat of the moment. That was all. It wasn’t like I actually enjoyed being with him in that way. Or did I? Fuck, what was wrong with me?

He did horrible things to me. I couldn’t enjoy his company, or his touch, but here I was craving it. Was I really like my mother? Craving the touch of a monster?

But Malakar isn’t your father. Your father had no light, just emptiness. The voice nagged at me, trying to find logic in this storm of chaos and confusion.

I bent forward and vomited again. Shit, shit, shit. If he saw this mess, he’d be furious. It must just be my nerves causing nausea. I was also underweight and hungry all the damn time. It was probably just the trauma catching up to me.

Trauma did live in the body, after all. The consequences of it crept out when you least expected it, hurling you down a cliff onto jagged stones. It gripped you by the throat and dragged you into the dark. It chipped you into fragments from the inside out.

My body was so tired of it.

I wanted to go back to simple days of watching the birds in the lake. My mom sitting in her chair, humming a song, reading a book. Me, a small girl, frolicking in the grass and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin.

Or the simple days of being in the group home with Milo, before he became Malakar.

Hot flashes rippled through my body. I felt the need to vomit again, but nothing came up. I think I threw up everything that was in my stomach.

Thankfully, the door opened. I was desperate to escape the stench of vomit. My body froze, and I watched his reaction. His eyes swept over the vomit, then found me.

“What happened?”

I curled into myself. “I—I don’t know. I’ve been feeling sick these past few days. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like messes, but there was nothing for me to use to clean it up.” My voice was so small, so helpless.

I think he sensed my helplessness. My fear. I remembered when he saw my period blood and snapped. Would he snap now? The unpredictability made my head spin.

He didn’t snap. Malakar shook his head. “You should have called for me. I could have taken you to the bathroom. Now I need to wash these sheets.” He wasn’t angry. There was disappointment in his voice, but no anger.

“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just feel so sick.” My head hung, I couldn’t even meet his eyes.

To my surprise, he walked over and lifted my chin. “Don’t look so sad, bluebird. I’ll take care of you.”