Page 122 of Buried in Blood
“Me neither.” He hands me the food, but I don’t touch it. “Want to talk?”
I nod.
Then I break.
“I miss him.”
It slips out like a secret. Like a wound ripped open by accident. “Not the man he is now—but the version of him I thought I had. The one who whispered to me when the world went quiet. The one who said I belonged.”
Dante doesn’t interrupt.
“I know he used me. I know he hurt me. But I don’t know how to want anything else.” I hug my knees. “Sometimes I think I don’t know how to live unless someone’s controlling me.”
“That’s not weakness,” Dante says quietly. “That’s survival.”
I stare at the floor.
“When he branded me, I didn’t even cry. I just… let him. Because I thought that maybe if I hurt enough, I’d finally be worthy of the love he kept dangling just out of reach.”
Dante sits beside me, closer than yesterday. Still not touching me. But solid. Present.
“I keep waiting for you to tell me I’m disgusting,” I whisper.
“You’re not.”
“I let him—”
“You survived him.”
The tears come before I can stop them. Hot and bitter and ugly. “I don’t know who I am without him. I don’t know how to exist without being someone’s… thing.”
Myvoice breaks on the last word.
“I want to be used,” I choke out. “Not by him. Not anymore. But by someone who doesn’t lie when they say they care. I want someone to tell me what to be. What to do. I want to be good for someone who won’t destroy me.”
There’s a long silence.
Then warmth.
Dante wraps his arms around me—not tight, not possessive. Just enough to let me fall apart.
I sob into his shoulder, the sound wretched and childlike. He holds me through it, one hand braced gently against the back of my head, the other steady on my spine like he’s trying to hold the pieces of me together.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t even want sex. I just want… someone to tell me who I am.”
“You’re Brooke,” he says. “You’re strong. You’re still here. And one day, when you’re ready, you’ll find someone who sees you. Who might want to own you, but will love you for who you are.”
I shiver against him.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “You don’t have to trust me. But I have someone I want you to meet.”
My brows pinch. “Who?”
“My wife, Evelyn.”
