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With every fiber of my being, I had to force myself to keep my eyes closed because if I didn’t, my body would follow the silent command my emotions were threading. The conviction of it was so deep it was polarizing. My limbs jolted against the mattress fighting a fury that felt so fragile.

Most people would be thrilled. Their dead father comes back, love reintroduced, right?

Not me.

I wasn’t grateful.

I was livid.

Colors swarmed behind my blackened lids as I fought to keep my eyes shut, desperate to keep the madness from latching onto anything that would set me off. A sick half of me, one that had my body writhing in dominance, had no patience for me or my control.

It laughed in the back of my mind like a tormented soul and wrenched my eyes open, forcing the bright morning haze to assault my vision.

The familiar disheveled room held no warmth, yet it felt overheated in a way I couldn’t name. My gaze dragged across the walls; over every picture I’d once pinned with admiration, one of me and my father among them. Now, each image lingered differently, every memory reframed under a harsher light.

And yet the damage he’d left behind swam through me, questions brimming at the edge of my mind. I tried not to focus on the tingle crawling down my arms, my fingers itching to clutch at the comforter—but my feet were faster, propelling me from the bed before I could stop myself.

Faster than I expected, my hands wrapped around the frame, staring the image down like it was the man itself. “Why?” was all that came out.

Did he think so little of me?

That brutal adrenaline surged through my system again, hot and unwilling to relent. With another rough growl, I asked the picture again. “Why?” When it didn’t answer, I smashed the frame into the wall. Wood and glass split apart, cracking into a hundred pieces around me. Shards scraped across my hand, splinters biting into my skin.

It didn’t offer any release.

My foot followed, colliding with the ruined image and then the drywall, gouging it open in the same breath. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. My knee and fist slammed into the all-too-willing wall of my childhood room until it became little more than dust and exposed wood.

It took me all of a second to realize what I’d done. And if it weren’t for the faint memory of my mother in the other room, I would have destroyed the base of the house. With the strength that had coursed through me, that wasn’t an exaggeration.

If I saw him, or even caught the faintest trace of his scent, if it drifted anywhere near me, I would hurt him. It didn’t matter if it was irrational. I would act on it. I knew I would. My nails dug into the wood, anchoring me there as the heat threatened to surge again with the intruding thoughts. I wouldn’t hurt someone I loved.

Puberty couldn’t compare to the emotional whiplash brewing inside me. Back then, maybe I’d thrown a tantrum here or there, but this? This was war. And I was completely unprepared. Fury ignited deep in my chest, spreading like fire beneath my skin as sweat beaded along my forehead, cooling nothing at all.

My knuckles stung, torn by debris, and a dull ache throbbed beneath my knees as I held myself there, whispering for my pulse to slow. I needed to restrain myself, to fold back into that familiar box of safety where emotions stayed small compared to the situation. But I knew, deep down, this was bigger than me.

I was so folded inward that the door clicking behind me barely registered. Her scent did, though, persistent, coaxing. A ruthlessness inside me refused to let go of the obsessive thoughts of Mark. I had to win that demon, not entertain the girl. “Leave me alone,” I hissed through gritted teeth. I didn’t have time for her interference this morning.

“What’s wrong, Alexander?” she asked. Her voice was like wind chimes, soft, delicate, impossibly soothing.

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath, a scream locked tight in my chest, but the moment her fingers grazed my skin, an unsettling calm surged through me, forcing a sharp breath from my lungs. My shoulder buckled, and before I could stop myself, my weight shoved her to the ground.

I didn’t care.

“I told you not to touch me,” I growled.

The way her touch had soothed the heat coiling beneath my skin was unnerving in the worst way. Unrest still lingered behind my closed lids. I didn’t want anyone to see the storm waiting there. I didn’t want to depend on her—to need her just to regulate myself. I was failing anyway. The heat kept rushing through me like a tidal wave. Sweat pooled beneath my pajamas, cotton clinging heavy and damp against my skin. Hatred surged up my chest, fire locked in a cage, and my body trembled helplessly beneath it. Another low growl tore from my throat, animal and raw.

“You need to talk to me. I’m here to help you, Alexander,” she said softly, her voice measured, like she was weighing my reactions. “I won’t touch you if you don’t touch me.” That last line made me chuckle, a dark, low rumble in my chest, as I pivoted on my heels to look at her.

I had questions. I had answers I needed. But right now, she wasn’t my focus.

“Do you know where Mark is?” I asked.

“Is that why you obliterated the wall?” she asked carefully, her eyes flicking from me to the debris. “Are you upset with him?”

A flare of annoyance tore through me at her question. She didn’t have the right to ask if I was angry with him. That was mine to carry, mine to deal with. I wasn’t about to unpack it, especially not for someone pressing me for answers I hadn’t asked for. “Then I’ll just go find him myself,” I snapped, already turning away.

I didn’t give her time to respond. I lunged for the door, intent hardening in my chest. I would get my answers one way or another. I should’ve known she’d be faster. She sidestepped me and slammed a hand against my chest like a brick wall. I didn’t fall, but the force sent me stumbling back.