Groggy, I shift in bed, wincing at my discomfort.
I don’t, at all, remember falling asleep, but I lay amidst my destroyed room filled with nothing but open bags and newly purchased suitcases I’d ordered last week in preparations to move home. I’m determined not to leave a single thing behind, because once I cross that threshold, and drive out of the gate, it will be for the last time.
I didn’t expect Tobias to come to me last night and I wasn’t disappointed. For all I know, I played DJ only aggravating the birds whose chirping now sounds distorted outside the doors. Still fighting, I wipe at my eyes, trying to clear the fog away.
When I’m finally able to keep them open, I lay confused on how I landed in a dead sleep in the center of my bed, my folded clothes intact. Continuing to fight to get my wits, I struggle to raise my limbs. It’s when I manage to lift from where I was comatose that I feel faint and resume my position back on the mattress to catch my bearings.
What in the hell?
Seconds later, an annoying sting beneath me has me lifting to check for sharp objects. Coming up empty, I reach for my cell phone on my nightstand for the time to see I’ve slept the day away and have only an hour until my shift.
That is if I was going back to work.
Which I’m not.
Instead, I shoot an email to my supervisor that takes me minutes, not seconds, to compose due to my blurred vision.
I won’t be coming in. Not tonight, and not ever. I won’t even give my father a heads-up about leaving early because I owe him no explanation. I’m only a few weeks shy of fulfilling my obligation of our agreement and what loyalty I had for him no longer exists. To hell with him.
To hell with them all.
As of this moment, I’m granting myself early parole. Normalcy sounds just peachy at this point, bland blissful. Determined to get home by nightfall, I try to lift again and groan out in frustration.
“What in the actual fuck?”
I repeatedly blink as I grapple with the gravity holding me down. I’ve never in my life been so tired.
Struggling to stand, I stumble back and steady myself with my hands on my mattress feeling hungover, even though I didn’t have a drop to drink last night. Which is ironic because there’s no better time to indulge than when your ex-boyfriends appear like bloodthirsty fairies after months of heart-shattering absence busting you just as you’re declaring your love for their brother.
“Ha!” I shout to no one at the utter insanity of it all. Oh, the stories I’ll never be able to tell. Who in the hell would believe it anyway? I’m hard-pressed to, and I lived it.
But will I survive it?
That’s a determination I’ll have to make at a later date.
Determined not to completely crack until I’m in the vicinity of Atlanta, I try again to lift the fog.
I must have passed out folding laundry, emotionally exhausted. But from the looks of it, between packing and staring at the walls, I managed to get enough done so I can leave in a matter of hours if I hustle. But it’s my body that betrays me as I’m forced to sit back down to control my spinning head. It’s been years since I slept that hard. And thankfully, I can’t remember a single dream.
Determined to right myself, I freeze when I feel the burn due to the stretch of my skin at my back, just before I hear the faint rustle of something behind me, something attached to it. And that’s when the burn sets in. When I reach back to palm my shoulder, the movement again draws my skin taut, causing the discomfort to spread. Searching with my fingers, my eyes bulge when I feel the edge of the slippery pad attached to it.
What in the fuck?
Jerking my T-shirt over my head, I toss it to the floor and hobble toward my vanity determined not to faceplant. It’s there I discover there are two pads taped along my shoulder blades.
What in the fuck!
I don’t have to lift them to know what’s there, but I have to see it for myself. I manage to reach the edge of one of them with my thumb and slowly peel it off, bold black ink clear in the reflection.
Raven’s wings.
“Oh my God,” I gasp as I manage to lift the other side. Reeling, I study the unmistakable mark while shaking my head in denial.
Last night, I wasn’t emotionally drained, I was fucking drugged and… branded.
Branded!
Marked by one of the sadistic liars that claimed to love me.
My first thought is Dominic, but Sean was just as angry, just as hurt, maybe even more so.
Is this my punishment?
Or is this a display of how much power they have over me?
Tobias would never take the choice away from me. He’s too level-headed, less emotional. He wouldn’t do this to me, especially after the way he deceived me.
Or would he?
“I may be the villain you fell for, but that doesn’t make me any less the villain.”
I wouldn’t put it past any of them at this point. But this only makes sense for the one who thinks he has a point to prove. Who in the hell actually believes they own me? Truly owns me enough to mark me as his possession.
Not only is it sick, but it’s also against the law.
But who am I kidding? I invited these criminals into my life, between my legs, and into my heart, and they’ve fucking branded me.
A permanent mark—a very visible and permanent mark. One I damn sure should have had a choice in. And why? So, I can’t hide behind my secrets anymore?
I still know nothing. Not enough to incriminate any of them, not really. All this time, I’ve tiptoed around their borders, respected them enough not to push too far, too hard, and for what?
I must have dozed off while packing, and that’s when they stuck me, drugged me.
They came like the thieves they are under the cover of night and marked me, labeled me: a label that screams one thing and one thing only—mine.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real. I study the tattoo on my back, disbelieving that this is my reality.
And I’m so done.
So fucking done.
Done with the questions, with the struggle, with the understanding, the mystery. I’m so fucking done wondering, waiting for answers while forever dangling in the dark.
I’m just…done.
And tonight, when the moon rises high in the sky above, I’m going to declare fucking war.
Bass thumps from behind the bubbled metal doors as loud laughter sounds out. They’re all here. Mindlessly partying while I stand a marked woman, completely set adrift on an island of rage and bitterness. I lift the first bottle and toss it, hitting my mark when it shatters against the door. The music clicks off, as the second one sails into the air, smashing to pieces at the foot of the door. Tyler is the first to go into the lobby. I can see his lips move with his report as one of the metal doors slowly lifts, and I hurl another bottle at it.
“Jesus, fuck,” Sean says, flinching as some glass hits him as I hurl another and another. His eyes flare with anger as he surveys the damage I’ve already inflicted. All of their tires are flat. No one will be following me tonight.
It’s surreal to see them all standing there, gawking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Jeremy, Tyler, Dominic, Sean, Russell, even Layla, who ghosted me along with the rest of them but regards me now with wide eyes. For so long, I felt like I’d imagined my time amongst them. But the gang’s all here and a few others I didn’t expect to see. Some fare with similar tattoos to the one I now wear, one of them with her eyes locked on Dominic, who discards a joint as he surveys the damage in his parking lot.