Page 58 of Sweet Torment

I think I need to come to terms with the fact that I probably am a psycho bitch at this point.

I murdered four of my childhood friends like a day ago, and it’s already off my radar.

I scare myself sometimes.

There is a version of me that would be horrified to know what I’ve become.

Had I not gone into heat, I would’ve killed those assholes myself. I’m claiming Carter.

Maverick would’ve done some damage, but I was just about to grab the knife from his pocket when everyone showed up.

And then one against one.

They would hate to know some of the situations I’ve been in. Er, put myself in.

The bonds feel high-pressure. Like I will have to behave. But I don’t know how to do that. I tried for Ezra. I did. It’s only a matter of time before I fuck up, though, and now I have the additional layer of bonds that expose me. I need to practice learning how to block my emotions better. It’s completely overwhelming to feel everyone at all times. It’s a sensory overload you can’t really describe unless you’ve experienced it. I want to rip my own skin off and run until the signals fade, but that’s the thing about bonds. You can’t really turn them off.

I’m stuck.

Most of the time, I’m going to love being stuck.

But sometimes I’m not.

The guilt is real.

This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Didn’t I want it? Didn’t I crave them, obsess over them, scribble their names into the margins of every notebook I ever owned? I did. That’s the truth, as undeniable as the ache in my chest now. I know I love them, but anger keeps burning through the cracks, sharp and nagging, aimed at them, at myself, at the whole mess of it. Five fucking years they spent knotted up with Whitney, tangled up in her sheets and her scent, while I was left to sweep up the pieces alone. I went from a daydream to a nightmare. I don’t know how to be good anymore. I think I resent that a little?

I don’t feel things the way I used to.

And maybe if they had been honest with me and maybe trusted me to be able to handle their big boy problems… maybe it would’ve made a difference.

So yeah, I’m a little bit salty.

And not that I would point this out, but I was sort of rushed into the decision of bonding them because I was trying to save them.

And now, I have signed another contract I can’t take back. I am on display, stripped bare.

It’s going to take time to get used to this. The adjustment is making me feel a little raw, ugly, and sharp enough to cut.

If they think they’re going to start barking orders at me now, they’re dead wrong. Fuck that. I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thank you very much, and I don’t need an alpha, or four of them, breathing down my neck or pretending to keep me safe. I’ve survived plenty without them, and I’m not about to start rolling over now.

“Here.” Freddie appears at my elbow with a protein bar and a smile that makes me want to punch something. Maybe even him, as horrible as it sounds. “You need to eat.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“Bianca, you haven’t eaten since⁠—“

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“But you need to keep your strength up. Heats are draining on your body, and food is important in the days after to replenish you. You need to increase your weight. When’s the last time you had water? Here, can you take a sip⁠—“

“Fuck off, Freddie!” Immediately, I feel his hurt bloom through our bond. It makes my chest squeeze because I can’t get away from it. Can’t ignore it. Can’t pretend I didn’t just severely wound him.

We’re newly bonded, and already I’m fucking it up. And the worst part is the question gnawing at me, relentlessly: Am I just like her? Am I someone who can’t love right anymore? I’ll probably just hurt them somehow. Like right now.

“Stop being such a brat.” Tristan grabs my arm to stop me. “He’s trying to help.”

I whirl on him, temper flaring. I’m a brat? “I don’t fucking need any help.”