Page 157 of Ruin My Life
She goes quiet. Still. The kind of still that feels like the world might be holding its breath for her.
“They wore red devil masks,” she says. “All I could see were their eyes.”
A tremor cuts through her.
“I begged them to take whatever they came for. Just let us go. But Alexander grabbed Amie. Said he was already taking what he wanted.”
Her gaze falls to the carpet beside us. To the stain she’d been reaching for when I found her.
“He made you watch…” I say. The words feel like glass dragged through my throat.
She nods. Slow. Detached.
“They…pickedwho got who. Alexander took Amie. The other one got me.”
The breath I take nearly splits me in half.
I didn’t think I had any pieces left to break. But hearing this—knowing this—proves I was wrong.
She presses a hand to her chest, like she’s trying to hold herself together with the weight of her own palm.
“He was… heavy,” she whispers, her voice cracking at the edges. “He pinned my knees to my chest. I felt something crack—my ribs, maybe more. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. So I just… focused on Amie. Tried to look at her instead of him. Tried to smile… so the last thing she’d see wouldn’t be my fear.”
The sob that tears out of her is jagged and wet, raw as a fresh wound. I turn her in my lap, tucking her head against my chest. My hand runs slow circles down her back as she breaks apart in my arms and chokes on her own breath.
She’s never said this out loud before. Not like this.
This is the moment the dam breaks.
“Shhh,” I murmur into her hair, cradling her tighter. “I’ve got you,mi rosa. I’ve got you.”
She clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to the earth, her hands fisting into my shirt, breath hitching like it might never even out again.
“When they were finished,” she chokes, “they shot me too. And all this time, I thought… I thought it was fate that kept me alive. That maybe I had a purpose. That survivingmeantsomething. Like I was meant to get revenge.”
She pulls back enough to look at me, her face blotchy and tear-streaked, lips trembling.
“But they never meant for me to die,” she says. “Theykeptme alive. To use me. They made me into this... bloodthirstymonster, and pointed me straight at you.”
“You’re not a monster,” I tell her, quiet but fierce as I stroke her hair away from her eyes. “You were made to survive the worst kind of hell. And you did. Not because of them. Because ofyou.”
Her eyes search mine, glossy with tears.
“I’m not strong,” she whispers. “I used to tell myself… after I killed Alexander, after I got my revenge, I’d be done. I could finally stop... existing.”
The shame in her voice punches straight through my ribs—harder than any bullet I’ve ever taken.
I cup her chin, tilting her face until there’s no room left for her to hide. “Do you still want that?” I ask softly.
She hesitates—breath shaking—then shakes her head.
“No… but—”
“That alone,” I murmur, “is strength most people will never have.”
I look at her like the miracle she is.
Like the girl who was never supposed to make it through this—butdid.
