Page 17 of Shattered Trinket

Out.

“It was after that night that he took the only clothes I had, leaving me completely exposed for him and anyone that came around to see, biting me every time he…rapedme,” I rasp out as I touch the spot he’d put his first bite unconsciously, hating that word, but knowing that’s what it was. “The more I fought him, the more he enjoyed it, and the worse it got for me until, after a month of being with him, I just stopped, knowing how useless it was. I just wanted the pain to stop. But the longer he had to wait for my heat, the more violent he became.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick from saying all of this out loud, but I fight it down. The urge to scrub myself to the bone so I can rid myself of the memories of Victor’s touch is almost too overwhelming, my insides feeling unclean and disgusting at remembering how badly it hurt every time, my body so often left in shock as it tried to work through the pain he’d leave me in. Ihad hated how I could feel everything he felt thanks to the one-sided bond he’d put in place.

Just another way for him to assert his control over me.

I could tell the doctors were concerned when I’d confessed to them I still hadn’t had a heat when I was asked for the date of my last one, especially with my age. Knowing that I hadn’t presented as an omega until I was in my mid-twenties only concerned them more. Because, according to them, omegas that present later than average should experience their first heat within the first month of them perfuming.

They ran countless tests while I was in the hospital, but they never could give me a straightforward answer on whether I’d ever get a heat or when it could happen. Just that if or when it happens, it’s likely that my body will be trying to make up for all that lost time. Meaning, my first heat will be longer, more intense, and possibly something I won’t remember much of because of the hormones flooding my body in excess after being suppressed for so long.

So, am I defective? Am I an omega that can’t… do what an omega should be able to do? Is it even something I want to happen after everything I went through at the hands of my captor? Can I allow someone to touch me intimately after what Victor did to me, after what he stole from me?

Before I saw Jeremiah again, smelled his scent and felt his arms around me, I would have put myself in the ‘absolutely not’ column. But the reaction I had to his scent on my clothes the other night wasn’t something I was prepared for either. I had been certain that something in me was innately broken, and that any kind of physical intimacy would either be completely off the table for me or something that would take me a lot of time to work up to. And then he came back for me.

Micah’s tense form catches my attention as I blink away thoughts of Jeremiah. A low growl escapes him before he cutsit off and his lips thin. A muscle in his cheek twitches as his teeth clench audibly, and I recognize the rage blazing in his eyes despite how hard he’s trying to keep it at bay. But I’m not afraid, because I sense that rage is on my behalf, and honestly, I’d rather that than pity from him, even if I don’t quite understand why.

His anger feeds something inside me, something that’s been hidden away for far too long, coaxing it out of me until it finally rears its head, pushing me to keep cleansing my soul of the rot, to free myself of the invisible chains still weighing me down.

“There’s a lot of things Victor told me were my role as an omega, rules I was to follow without question. And since he made sure he beat them into me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget hisrules, his…punishments,” I growl, getting angry as my fists clench and the tips of my nails dig into my palms.

That… Thatmonstertook so much from me, so many things I can never get back or truly replace. He stripped me of my dignity, forced me into a role that never felt right, and ingrained a fear unlike anything I’ve ever known in me that I’m struggling to rid myself of. Nothing he told me was true felt natural, and everything he did to me felt wrong.

“Do you want to stop?” Micah asks softly, his voice sounding strained, but I shake my head, letting the anger that’s taken root in my battered soul as I finally purge some of the vile memories imprinted on it guide me.

“He… He’d told me ‘an omega’s only purpose is to serve their alpha, squeeze their knots, and most importantly, never be heard’.”

I swallow the bile that tries to creep up my throat as the taste of ash coats my tongue after repeating those words.

Staring at Micah, but not actually seeing him as I get sucked back, I begin to repeat everything on autopilot.

“I learned to drop to my knees with my hands behind my back and head bowed, mouth shut, just by the tone of his voice after he’d whipped me so bad one night during that first month that I could hardly move for weeks. It was the first time he’d used more than his hand for a punishment. Because I’d spoken without permission, breaking his number one rule when enough time had passed that I should have known better.‘Be seen, but not heard, Cozette, or suffer the punishment’,he constantly liked to remind me.”

Coughing out a laugh at that stupid rule that I hate so much because he took my voice from me, I dig my nails deeper into my palms, ignoring the sting when they just barely break the skin.

As if everything else he’d already taken wasn’t enough, he had to silence me, but not before beating me into submission until I learned.

“I’d already thought things couldn’t get worse for me when he proved me wrong by doing that, and after that night, I learned not to say anything, because Victor was particularly sadistic, and his punishments were his favorite form of torture. He was always trying to one up the last punishment like it was a… a game or race or… something.”

I almost lose that anger as those memories threaten to pull me under completely, but I hold on to the flame, fanning it higher and refusing to break when every word that leaves my lips makes me feel lighter and lighter as I eliminate some of these heavy burdens.

Micah was right earlier.

He doesn’t get to win anymore, because he’s dead. He’s nothing but a rotting corpse in the ground—bug food—in an unmarked grave, and I’m still here.

Iwin.

Isurvived, despite it all.

And Iwillwin back the omega that I was only just learning to be before he broke me and shattered every dream I’d ever had. I’ll fight to bring her back, and every setback will only serve as a lesson, until one day, she’s completely uncaged.

Gritting my teeth at the images flickering to life in my mind, I push forward, continuing to ignore how sick I feel after baring so much of myself to another person.

“I can still feel the metal cuffs around my ankles and wrists, chaining me to the wall so tightly that I couldn’t move. Can hear the whistle of his favorite whip as it swung through the air just before hitting my exposed back. Can feel the sting of the leather and small metal spikes that adorned the ends of the tassels as they ripped open my skin repeatedly until my back went numb. Still hear my screams echoing in my ears until my throat was raw and my voice hoarse. Can still smell the cleaner he used to wash the blood-soaked tassels after he was done. I remember the agony I was in as he threw me in the special cage he’d gotten just for me, nothing inside for me but a bucket with cold, soapy water. He’d told me to clean myself up before I bled all over my new home, then slammed the cage door and locked me in, and I can still hear the metal as it collided together and the sound of the lock mechanism clicking into place. And I remember the way I’d laid on that cold metal floor, naked and shivering with my back torn open, as I begged the gods to just let me die because I couldn’t imagine surviving him another day.”

I gasp as the last word falls from my lips and it suddenly feels like all the air in the room has been sucked right out. My hand comes up to cover my mouth as a sob finally breaks free and my back begins to ache where the worst of my scars reside, those specific details ramming into me from every which way. That sick feeling finally takes root in my belly, the urge to throw up something that can’t be ignored any longer as I’m suddenly right back in that room. Bolting upright from my seat, I rush over tothe small trash can by the door, falling to my knees as I lose the contents of my stomach until nothing is left and I can’t do anything else but dry heave as I break down.

I flinch away when a hand is placed on my back, rubbing up and down gently, because, mentally, I’m still there, still in that room. Locked away and completely destroyed. Until the scent of baby powder—the scent of safety—surrounds me, pulling me back to the present where Micah is kneeling behind me, whispering soothing words as I work to calm myself down. I turn to look at him with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands after wiping my nose and mouth with a tissue he passes to me over my shoulder, feeling even more exposed than when I was kept naked as those honey brown eyes rove over my face. They’re filled with so much concern over my well-being, so much anger at what I went through, that it makes my breath hitch and my heart skip a beat.