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But nothing about my life or childhood had ever been okay.
Perhaps…maybe…I could be okay if I did this. If I allowed Vic to free me, maybe I wouldn’t have to use my switchblade to reopen my scar and end it.
I didn’t have long.
The misery and melancholy were winning, crushing.
I honestly didn’t know how much longer I could fight the urge to rest, to sleep, to die.
Q isn’t coming…
If I died, Ily would be alone.
But if I cured my affliction of loving her, then perhaps…just perhaps, I could learn how to be better at this. I could still be her Master. We could still have a life together. Just without the mess and agony of feelings.
With a groan, I allowed Victor to tip the pill onto my tongue.
I didn’t fight as he took my glass from my shaking hand and pressed the drink to my lips like I was a child.
The wet stabbing pain behind my eyes came again.
He cared.
He truly cared.
I swallowed.
He hugged me, and I sagged into his embrace.
The wretchedness inside me crashed too hard, too deep.
I sank into it.
Darkness tugged me down and down.
Guiding me to the couch, he sat me down, then padded toward Ily.
My fists balled to stop him.
My body fought the sluggish riptide inside me, making everything so slow and stilted and sad. Just so fucking sad.
I’d never felt such pain.
Such heartache.
Such despair.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
Why I could barely move.
Why I felt utterly spaced and seedy.
Closing my eyes, I tried to get a better grip on my rapidly fraying sanity.
Surely, I could come up with a way to prevent Victor from fucking Ily. Didn’t matter I’d agreed to it. Didn’t matter he’d probably try to kill me if I forbade him. I just couldn’t put her through that. Couldn’t run the risk of him breaking her like she’d broken me.
He expects you to fuck Rachel.
