Page 1 of Ruin Me Gently

PROLOGUE

They say that thebrain should be fully developed by the time you reach the age of twenty-five.

Well, I didn’t know who ‘they’ were.

But I could tell you one thing for certain.

‘They’ were fucking liars.

It’s all well and good being told how thingsshouldbe, but you’re never told what happens if your grey matter misses the memo when it comes to developing. Or worse—if it developed in all the wrong ways, like a house where the contractor skipped over the electrics and now every time you flip a switch, the circuit breaker explodes.

On paper though, my life looked good. Clean lines, neatly printed, easy to read.

But life isn’t lived on paper. It’s in the ink—the messy, unpredictable ink that bleeds through the pages, smudging everything in its path.

And my ink? It had a habit of staining everything it touched.

CHAPTER ONE

He rolled off mewith a grunt, peeling his sticky body away fromthe fabric of my T-shirt. The mattress dipped under his weight as he shifted, half-heartedly throwing a corner of the blanket over me before leaning back with one arm behind his head.

“That was really good,” he said, the glow of his phone screen lighting up his face as he started scrolling.

Was I supposed to agree? Say thank you?

The thought sent my brain scrambling as I tried to figure out what the right response even was—the one that would piss him off the least.

“Look,” he said, turning the phone toward me.

A picture of him sat at the top of the screen, standing in front of a camera, mic in hand.

LOCAL REPORTER CLARK THORN SPARKS BACKLASH AFTER CONTROVERSIAL SEGMENT: VIEWERS CALL COVERAGE ‘INSENSITIVE AND MISGUIDED.’

“Critics,” he said, spitting the word out as he turned the phone back to himself and began frantically typing into the search bar. “These people don’t have a clue what they’re talking about.”

“Well,” I said softly, “you know how people are. They’ll always find something to pick apart.”

It was the right thing to say. I knew that before it had left my mouth.

“Lunch tomorrow, angel? My treat,” he said as he stood, grabbing his clothes up from the floor.

“Yeah, of course.” I nodded, even though my chest was tightening at the sight of him rushing like he couldn’t getaway fast enough.

He smirked faintly as he pulled his shirt and trousers on. Then his gaze dipped, flicking down my body for a brief moment, lingering just long enough to make the hairs on my skin stand up.

“You know,” he said, buckling his watch and adjusting the strap, “if you stopped wearing that shirt every time we fucked, and maybe did a little… work… on yourself, it might be good for you too.”

He raked a hand through his bleached blond hair, shot me a wink, grabbed his keys, and left.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Moving just for the sake of it, maybe. Chasing some kind of relief from the restless energy buzzing under my skin.

My reflection caught my eye in the mirror across the room, and I immediately wished it hadn’t. I tugged at the hem of my T-shirt instinctively, trying to smooth it out, but it didn’t help. The fabric clung stubbornly to my hips like it had a personal vendetta, outlining every curve I desperately wanted not to see.

Sour breath burns behind my ear. “You’re disgusting. Look at yourself. You don’t need to eat any more.”

My thighs pressed together awkwardly, the soft flesh spilling out in a way that made me want to smash every reflective surface I’d ever come across again.

My gaze travelled up, landing on my stomach, and my fingers twitched at my sides. A sick, familiar itch. I knew better. I knew if I looked.Reallylooked. I’d spiral.

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