CHAPTER 17 — Emotional Breakdown
1724 Words
The door slammed. Hard. The whole frame shuddered against the impact, rattling the hinges until the wood groaned.
Lock it. Twist the key. Twice. Three times.
As if a cheap piece of metal could scrub what just happened out there.
My hands wouldn't quit. Not quivers—these were ugly, rhythmic jolts that made my fingers scrape uselessly against denim. Every breath came in jagged gasps, like I’d spent the last ten minutes sprinting for my life instead of just crossing the street.
“She breathes because I allow it.”
The words wouldn't stop. They just sat there, heavy as wet concrete in my skull. Not shouted. Not even sharp. Just... absolute.
I pressed my back to the door and slid down. The wood grain snagged against my shirt until my weight hit the floor. My legs felt like wet noodles—worthless, trembling things that couldn't be trusted to hold me up for another second.
My fault. All of it.
No. That’s not how it happened.
But god, it felt like it. If I’d stayed inside. If I’d ignored the shouting. If I’d never let Kade get close enough to—
The phone buzzed in my pocket.
My jaw snapped shut. A sharp, hot sting flared in my mouth—the metallic tang of copper filling my tongue where my teeth bit through.
Unknown number. Flashing. Mocking me.
I didn't want to look. I did it anyway.
The picture popped up first. It was me, caught mid-step. Kade had his hand on some guy’s arm, wrenching it back, but the camera was on me. My face was white as paper, eyes blown wide, pupils swallowed by the iris.
The caption read: Pretty when terrified.
My stomach did a slow, sick flip.
Another ping followed.
Does he make you feel powerful? Or just owned?
I chucked the phone at the couch. It hit the cushion and slid to the floor like a piece of burning coal. My chest squeezed so tight the air felt like it was being filtered through a straw.
This wasn’t about protection anymore. It was a performance.
They’re all using me. He’s using me. Every single one of them treats me like a flag they’re trying to plant on a hill.
I hauled myself up, grabbing the kitchen counter until my knuckles went white. The room tilted sideways, the floor swaying like the deck of a boat.
I hate him. I hate that he said that where everyone could hear. I hate that some sick, primal part of me felt—
Safe.
The realization made my throat close up. That was the part that actually hurt. When that rival’s hand had clamped around my arm, the terror had been a physical weight. Then Kade showed up, and the fear vanished so fast it made me dizzy. The whole street went quiet. Nobody dared move.
That safety had gravity. It had weight.
And I hate that I wanted to sink into it.
A knock sounded way down the hall. Not my door—somebody else’s place—but my body locked up instantly. I held my breath, waiting, listening to the silence of the apartment complex. Nothing else came.
My heart still wouldn't slow down.
I stumbled to the sink and scooped cold water onto my face. It was sharp enough to sting, dripping down my neck and under my collar. The reflection staring back looked... smaller. Like something had been carved out of me in the middle of that street.
I’m not just Lucia anymore. I’m a marker. A border. A thing someone claimed out loud for the world to see.
“She breathes because I allow it.”
The tears hit without warning. Hot, heavy, and frantic. I pressed both palms flat on the countertop, staring at the drain.
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare—
It happened anyway. Not the pretty, cinematic kind of crying. These were ugly, rattling sobs that shook my shoulders before I could even find the air to muffle them.
I slid down again, leaning against the cold kitchen cabinets. I clamped my hands over my mouth to kill the noise. I didn't want the neighbors hearing. I didn't want him hearing.
My chest ached like it was bruised from the inside.
The truth was too much to carry. I hate that he made me sound like property. I hate that he has the power to make people believe it. But I hate, most of all, that if he wasn't there...
They’d come back. It would be worse. And I’d be alone in the dark.
The phone buzzed again.
His name.
I stared at the screen through a blur of salt and heat. I should ignore it. I should let him think he doesn't matter. I should—
It buzzed again. Persistent. Demanding.
My thumb hit accept before my brain could find the brakes.
Silence first. Just the faint hum of static and the sound of his breathing on the other end. Then, his voice—
“You inside?”
Hearing it made my breath hitch so hard I almost choked. I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
My voice cracked. A pathetic, tiny sound.
He heard it. Of course he did.
“You’re crying.”
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.
“No, I’m not.” A lie. The most pathetic one I’d ever told.
There was a pause on his end. Then, softer—lower than I’d ever heard him speak—he asked, “Did they touch you again?”
Something in my chest splintered at the tone. It wasn't bossy. It wasn't the alpha-male roar from the street. It sounded like... care. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
“They took a picture,” I whispered. “Sent it to me.”
The silence stretched. I could almost feel his temper cooling into something sharp and lethal. When he finally spoke, his voice was ice.
“Send it to me.”
“I don’t want you making this bigger!” I snapped. The anger felt better than the crying. “I know what bigger looks like now, Kade. Broken bones. Brawls in the street. I didn't ask for a war.”
“They already made it bigger,” he said quietly.
I gripped the phone until the plastic casing groaned. “I didn't ask you to break his arm.”
“No,” he said. “You didn't.”
The lack of apology made my stomach twist.
“You could’ve done something else. Talked. Called the cops—”
“Cops don’t care about this kind of mess,” he cut in. “If I’d been nice, they’d think I’m weak. If they think I’m weak, they keep coming for you.”
“And that’s more important than... than me?”
He finished it before I could even find the words. “Than you? Yeah.”
The air left my lungs.
“I didn't say that,” I whispered.
“You didn't have to.”
Anger flared up, hot and jagged. “I am not something you own!”
Silence. Longer this time.
Then, “You’re not.”
The words landed strangely. They didn't match the man who’d shouted at the crowd earlier.
“Then why say it? Why say I only breathe because you allow it?”
He let out a slow, tired breath. “I wasn't talking to you, Lucia.”
It shouldn't have mattered. It shouldn't have made the knot in my chest loosen even a fraction. But it did.
“Who, then?”
“Every guy out there who thinks scaring a girl makes them a king. They need to know the price of touching what’s mine.”
I shivered. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Stay alive,” he said simply.
The tears blurred my vision again. I hate him. I need him. The two feelings were tangled together like barbed wire in my gut.
“You don’t get to decide if I live or die.”
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I decide who tries to stop you.”
The room spun again. I swallowed down the rising nausea, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of grey and shadows.
“I don’t feel safe,” I blurted out. The words were raw. Unshielded.
Something shifted on his end—the sound of a car door slamming.
“I’m coming over.”
“No.” The word shot out of me like a reflex. If he showed up here, it would make the nightmare real. It would tie me to him so tight I’d never get loose. “I don’t need you here.”
“Lucia.”
My name in his voice made my resolve crumble.
“I don’t want you here,” I said again.
A lie. Or at least a half-truth. I didn't want the mess. I didn't want the violence. But I wanted—
Stop it.
“Five minutes out,” he said. Flat. Final.
“You never listen to me.”
“Never said I did.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the black screen. Anger hit first, then a wave of fear, and then the one thing I refused to admit: relief.
My stomach revolted. The pressure in my chest finally peaked. I hauled myself up too fast, the world blurring into a smear of colors. Heat climbed up my throat.
I barely made it to the sink before I doubled over. I gagged, my body trying to purge everything—the fear, the adrenaline, the guilt. I clung to the counter edge, tears streaming down my face.
I hate that my body treats him like he’s both the poison and the antidote.
A knock at the door.
Not down the hall this time. Right here. Heavy. Sure of itself.
My pulse spiked so hard I thought I’d black out.
“Lucia,” his voice came through the wood. Low. Just loud enough to reach me.
My knees almost gave out. I was still shaking, still raw, still so goddamn embarrassed. But as I reached for the handle, I knew it wasn't just because I was afraid.
It was because I didn't want to be alone anymore.
- Writer
