Page 129 of You Were Always Mine
I can’t breathe. I can’t think past the noise. It’s blood. It’s Scar’s sobs. It’s Tyler’s laugh.
I see his throat in my hands. I hear the crack. I hear the silence after.
Nobody touches her. Nobody fucking touches her but me.
I pace the kitchen like an animal. Every shadow is his face. Every reflection in the glass is Scar’s body bent beneath me, trembling, begging for more, begging for release. And over it all, the phantom image of him stealing even a second of what belongs only to me.
I’m shaking. I’m laughing. I don’t even know which.
She said she loves me. She said it—she broke saying it. And that means I can’t let this go. I can’t forgive. I can’t forget.
He touched her once.
That’s all he gets.
Next time?
Next time, I’ll put him in the ground.
Scarlett
The buzzing doesn’t stop.
It’s a wasp in my veins, a sting in my chest, a hum I can’t escape. My body recoils with each incoming call, my pulse hammering like it might burst through my ribs. I keep telling myself not to look, not to read, not to let his words bleed under my skin—but I always do.
You liked it.
Don’t pretend you didn’t.
Tell your brother what I did, and I’ll tell your parents what you’ve been doingwith him.
Slut.
Mine.
The words crawl over me, heavier each time, pushing me deeper into the pit opening inside my stomach. I can’t breathe without hearing the chime again. I can’t blink without seeing his name burn through the glass.
My hand shakes so hard the phone almost slips from my grip. I press it against my chest, as if hiding it there will make it disappear—but the screen lights again. Another message. And another. Each one worse. Crueller. Filthier. Like he’s inside my head, tearing me apart thought by thought.
My breath comes shallow, ragged. Tears smear the edges of my vision, but I don’t wipe them. I don’t move. I just sit there with my back against the bathroom door, cold tile beneath me, the glow of my phone branding my skin.
And I whisper to no one?—
“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”
Another buzz. Another slice. I don’t want to see it, but my thumb moves anyway, like I’m chained to him, like the phone owns me.
Do you remember how you shook? Do you remember how wet you were? Don’t lie. You wanted it. You begged for it.
The scream rips out of me before I even know it’s coming—a raw, animal sound that bounces off the tiles and makes me hate myself more, because it’s exactly what he wants: to break me open until all that’s left is noise.
My chest heaves. My nails claw at the floor. I throw the phone across the bathroom. It hits the cabinet, screen cracking, light still flickering. Another buzz. Another message.
My throat burns. My eyes sting. “Stop!” I scream again,louder, ripping at my hair as if I can drag the memory out by force, as if I can make his words vanish.
But the phone keeps lighting up.
Keeps taunting me.
