Page 43 of Outbreak

Good. We can hash this shit out right now. My own anger that I’ve held onto for the last four years rises to the surface. I left for a fucking reason, and it’s time she figures out that I know the truth.

“I had to! You were fucking my dad!” I growl back, letting the venom in my voice bleed through.

But instead of the shameful shock I expect, she rears back, like I just slapped her. The hurt and betrayal that flashes on her face shocks me, but it’s quickly replaced as she lets go of my hair and swipes her tears away angrily.

“You don’t know anything.” The blade drops, clattering to the floor as she gets up and steps back.

“I saw the pictures with my own eyes, Rue. I just don’t understand why?—”

“He was raping me, Wyck! I had to protect you!” She spits, the disgust and hurt in her own voice nearly knocking the breath out of me.

I’m sorry… WHAT?

CHAPTER 35

Rue

“What did you just say?” Ghost,Wyckwhispers, the blood trickling down his throat and into his black shirt. His face pales as the truth sinks into his thick skull.

I’m shaking, vibrating with emotions I don’t know what to do with. It’s been him all along. The boy next door who made me fall in love with him just to abandon me like everyone else in my life.

I should have known—suspected, at least. How could I have been so naive and stupid?

“Rue! What the hell did you just say?” He scoots around, trying to get to his knife I dropped when he threw one of my rapists in my face. How could he have seen those pictures and thought that I wouldchooseto do that? How could he not even ask me? The boy who knew my deepest fears and darkest history—how could he just abandon me without even speaking to me? I guess I didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to me. I was willing to suffer his disgusting father and mine to keep him safe, and he couldn’t even have a goddamn conversation with me.

I can’t breathe, drowning under the weight of the past and the hurt that almost killed me.

“Where are you going? Come back!” His voice is distant as I walk away, my feet carrying me somewhere—but I don't know where. All I know is I need air—I need to breathe in clean oxygen and not feel so suffocated. “Dammit, Rue.”

The door swings open, and the sun blinds me as I step out onto the loading dock. But I don’t make it more than a step before his strong arms band around my waist, pulling me back inside as I thrash and kick at him. He picks me up like an unruly toddler throwing a tantrum and slams the door back shut. “It’s not safe out there, and clearly you’re not thinking straight. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Let me go!”

“No! I can’t! Don’t you fucking get that? I can’t let you go. I came back for you!”

“You fucking left me!” I scream, beating my hands back to hit him wherever I can. I don’t know what I'm doing. I just need to hit something—him. He lowers me to the ground and adjusts his arms, trapping mine beneath them and hugging me tightly.

“I know,” he whispers softly—too softly. I don’t want his sympathy or his pity. “And we’re going to talk about that, but right now, I need you to calm down before you get us both killed.”

I continue to flail in his hold, fighting against the comfort I've needed from him for four long years. My fight fades with the constant pressure of his body against mine, as it’s always done. But as soon as it leaves, the fight turns to shaking sobs as the year of pain floods out of me.

“You left me,” I cry softly. “You fucking left me—when I needed you the most.” His hand smooths my hair out of my face as he slides down the steel door. He lowers us to the ground and turns me, cradling me against his chest. I cling to him, becauseas much as I want to fight it, fight him. I need him. I want him. And I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Shhhhh. I’ve got you now. And I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He rocks me against the door, and I let him. I don’t have the energy to fight him. I haven’t slept all night. I laid on that table above him after I tied him up, playing that last day in my mind over and over again. Going over every possible reason why he could have left me like that. Jimmy’s words played in my head over and over.

Worthless.

Used-up.

Filthy Whore.

Waste of space.

I need answers. He owes me that. And if I’m being honest, I owe him the truth, too.

“Sleep for a little while,” he says when I try to pull away. “Then we’ll talk.”

My eyes flutter closed, and I take a long, steady breath. He's right. I’m exhausted and need to mentally recharge before we nose dive into the childhood trauma I’ve spent years burying.

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