Page 16 of I’m The Worst

“Come out.”

“Go away.” I bury deeper into the blankets, curling tighter.

His hand shoots under the bed, his large fingers clamping around my upper arm. I kick and punch, but it’s pointless with him. He drags me out in one swift motion and hauls me to my feet like I weigh nothing.

“Let me go!”

He shoves me onto the bed next to a tray of food on the nightstand.

“Eat.”

I turn my head away. “I’m not hungry.”

His voice is sharper this time. “You will eat, or I’ll force-feed you.”

Lips pressed together, I glare at him.

He’s bigger than I remember. Broader and thicker through the shoulders and chest. The black t-shirt strains across muscles, sleeves tight around his arms.

His dark brown hair falls messily over green eyes that barely meet mine before shifting away. A small scar slices through one eyebrow, disappearing into a beard that’s grown in since the last time I really looked at him. It makes him appear rougher. Tattoos decorate his right arm—snakes, symbols, skulls. Words in languages I can’t read.

His presence takes up too much space.

I force my eyes down to the tray holding a bowl of soup and bread. My stomach recoils at the sight.

Shaking my head, I ask the question that’s been haunting me. “How long was I missing?”

At first, I held on to hope. Prayed that someone would come for me. But as the days blurred into weeks, hope faded into something duller. Numbness. It was always night. Always cold. And they were always there. Eventually, I stopped praying for rescue.

I started praying for death.

“Eleven weeks.”

The air is punched from my lungs.

Eleven weeks.

A hollow sob escapes before I can stop it. Three months. Three months of being violated, raped, and tortured. My father is one of the most powerful Sovereigns in the world, and it took almost three months to find his daughter.

“Why? Why did it take so long to rescue me?”

He takes the empty chair across the room, leans back, legs spread, just staring.

I grip the blanket tighter. “Why did it take so long?”

His expression doesn’t change. “They kept moving you,” he says flatly.

I don’t remember being moved. Just the unrelenting pain. The humiliation. The terror that never ceased. I search his face, searching for something—anything.

No pity. No sympathy.

Nothing.

Just that same blank, detached expression. The same face he wore when he fucked me on that stage in front of a room full of monsters.

“How did you find me?” My voice cracks.

He exhales without looking at me. Then stands and walks out.