Strike ( Book 4: Stronger Series )

38. Demolition

It started with my hands. That horrible twitch that pulsed through my fingers, reverberating in each of my knuckles until it traveled up my wrist, along my arms and north to my shoulders where the tension only grew worse. The tight cold metal that circled my ankles, wrists, and throat suddenly felt tighter than they ever had. I felt like I was suffocating. Like the cuffs were cutting off blood and airflow, and I fucking wanted them off.

I didn't know what compelled me to claw at my skin where each ring was, but I tore at the metal until my skin was raw and red, and I could see blood. I screamed with absolute hopelessness as I tugged at the collar around my throat with all my might, but I knew it wouldn't give. There was no use in any of this, and my loss of control was my final undoing.

Seeing those girls up there, seeing the small one with the red hair, God, it was like seeing myself, and the memory of my own auction came back to haunt me with a vengeance. They were so young, so vulnerable, and just as fucking helpless as I was. In all my life, I had never craved such a massacre like the one I wanted to start at that very moment. My very soul demanded an ocean of blood, and it was left deeply dissatisfied.

It was only a few minutes before my entire body shook with an uncontrollable white-hot rage that was ready to burst forth and destroy everything around me.

And it was the first time I fucking let it.

Grabbing the first thing nearest me, which happened to be a lamp, I rapidly ripped it from the dresser and tossed it across the room. It smashed against the wall before shattering to the floor, the large dent inviting me to do more.

The decorative items on the dresser were next as I violently shoved them across the hard wood and watched them clatter onto the carpet before the dresser followed suit, its ends turned up until it was upside down, the glass from the small doors in complete shatters.

I ripped at the soft throw pillows, fighting the fabric until the feathers littered the air and the rug around me. I lost track of the number of holes I kicked into the walls, drywall dust twinkling in the air as I moved through it like a madwoman. The couch was eventually turned onto its side while the wooden bindings were completely kicked in. The glass frames on the wall became target practice for anything small enough I could get my hands on. The bed sheets torn from the mattress into shreds, my nails destroying the fabric until I thought they would fall off.

By the time I finished, I could barely breathe. I huffed oxygen into my lungs like I was suffocating while the room I stood in was completely decimated. Utterly numb with rage and despair, I collapsed to the floor, joining the destruction around me like I belonged there, a ruined thing like everything else. I had no strength left to even move. All I could do was rest my head against the remains of the broken couch and curl in on myself.

White-hot tears seared their way down my cheeks as my heart nearly burst from my chest, my voice unrecognizable as I screamed in fury. My anguish didn't just stem from the rage and utter hopelessness. What I was suffering was the all-consuming bitter taste of betrayal.

In an instant, I became viciously unraveled. The closely bound stitching that I had used to sew myself into the perfection that I had become was swiftly ripped away, releasing a violent monster of emotional depravity. The sledgehammer of trauma had crashed through the carefully laid concrete that swallowed my heart, and all I felt was the desolation of unimaginable heartbreak. All of Darren's carefully crafted work was completely undone in a single evening.

After everything I had done, after everything I had given him, given up for him, this was my reward. This was the future I got to look forward to. Watching innocent women get raped right in front of me while I had to pretend it was okay. Benefiting from their suffering by means of pretty dresses, beautiful homes, and fancy vacations. Living my life so they could continue to lose more of theirs.