And now… I’m trying to erase it.
The tattoo removal process ishell. Every session is worse than the last.
The laser cuts through my skin like fire, blistering and burning, trying to break down the ink that was forced into me. But it’s slow. Too fucking slow.
Weeks of agony. Weeks of sitting in that chair while the technician zapped layer after layer of my skin, trying to undo what Trip had done.
But the scars won’t go away.
They never will.
The ink is fading, slowly, but the damage is permanent. And every time I look in the mirror, I see it. His mark. I see his fucking name in that scar, like he’d written it himself.
TRIP.
My teeth clench, my jaw tightening until it aches. I hate him. I fuckinghatehim. But no matter how much I hate him, I can’t stop thinking about him.
Trip has takeneverythingfrom me.
Lydia. My reputation. My fucking sanity.
He didn’t just beat me. He humiliated me. Reduced me to nothing. And now, I can’t think about anything else. My world had shrunk to them.
Trip and Lydia.
I see them everywhere. Even when I’m not looking. Every fucking time I close my eyes, I see them.
I see Trip’s hands on her body.
I see the way she looks at him–like he’s her fuckinggod.
I see the way she melts under his touch, the way she gives herself to him completely without hesitation. And Ihateit. I hate the way she surrenders to him. I hate the way she worships him.
But more than that…
I hate that I can’t stop watching. I’ve been watching them for weeks. Trip thinks he’s so fucking smart. He thinks he’s untouchable. But he isn’t.
I know where they live. I know their routines. I know everything. And they don’t even realize I’m watching.
Always watching.
I hacked into her cameras weeks ago. She thinks she’s safe. She thinks Trip is protecting her.
But he doesn’t seeme. I’m invisible now. A shadow lurking just out of reach. And I see everything. Every fucking night, I watch them.
I watch Trip walk around her house like he fucking owns it.
I watch Lydia curl up against him, her body fitting so perfectly against his like she is made for him.
I watch them fuck.
Over. And over. And over.
I see every inch of her. Every mark he leaves. Every bruise. Every fucking scar. And I hate how much it turns me on. I tried to stop watching. I tried to turn off the cameras. But I can’t. I can’t stop.
Every time I see them together, the rage builds higher. The obsession burns hotter. They are all I think about now. All I care about.
I don’t even think about that streamer bitch anymore. The one I left Lydia for. What was her name?