Page 78 of Dark Therapy

My throat tightened, my voice cracking.

“He made me…Fuck. He made mehurtthem. Made me use knives, bats, whatever the fuck he handed me. Told me it was how you survive in this world. Told me to shut the fuck up and stop crying like a little bitch.”

I dragged a hand over my face, trying to scrape off the shame, the rage, the fuckingmemories.

“And you know what’s worse?” I spat, my voice dropping into something cold, venomous. “I gotgoodat it. Real fucking good. So good, he started calling me his little partner. Like I was his goddamn apprentice.”

The room was dead silent, except for the sound of my breathing—heavy, uneven, like I was choking on the words.

“I didn’t stand a fucking chance,” I whispered, my voice barely audible now. “He turned me into this. Thismonster. And the worst part? I don’t even know if I hate him for it… or if I hate myself more for not stopping him.”

I let out a bitter laugh, one that tasted like ash in my throat.

“But you know what broke me?” I muttered, still staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to this fucked-up mess. “The day I finally figured out what I was dealing with. The day I saw who hereallywas.”

My chest rose and fell like a fucking sledgehammer, the memories slamming into me full force.

“I was twelve. Twelve fucking years old, Millie,” I said, my voice trembling with something I couldn’t quite name—rage, grief, maybe both. “And he came home, reeking of booze and blood. That wasn’t unusual, you know? That was just another Tuesday. But my mom—she finally had enough. She finally fought back.”

The words were spilling out now, unstoppable, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“She screamed at him, called him every name in the book. Told him he was a monster, told him she’d take me and leave. And you know what he did?” My laugh turned sharp, bitter. “He smiled. That sick, twisted fucking smile. Like it was all some goddamn joke.”

I paused, swallowing hard, the memory choking me.

“And then he took her, right there in the kitchen, and he…he slit her throat.” My voice cracked, but I kept going, the floodgate wide open now. “Like it wasnothing. Likeshewas nothing. Just one quick swipe, and she wasgone. Blood everywhere. All over me. All over the walls. And he looked at me, Millie—he fuckinglookedat me—and said,‘That’s how you deal with problems, son. That’s how you survive.’”

My hands were shaking now, the rage and the pain boiling over, spilling out of me in jagged, broken pieces.

“I don’t even remember thinking,” I said, my voice low and rough. “I just remember grabbing the knife off the counter. Thesameknife he’d used. The same fucking knife. And Istabbedhim. Right in the gut.”

I could feel my chest heaving, the weight of the memory crushing me, drowning me.

“He didn’t even fight back,” I muttered. “Just looked at me with this… thislook, like he was proud. Like I’d finally become what he wanted. And that… that was the worst fucking part.”

I closed my eyes, the image of his face burned into my mind like a brand.

“I ran,” I whispered. “Ran out of that house, covered in their blood, and I didn’t look back. Not once. Didn’t even know where the fuck I was going. I just… Icouldn’tstay there.”

The silence settled over us again, heavy and suffocating. My hands clenched into fists, the nails biting into my palms, grounding me in the present.

“That’s the day I learned,” I said, my voice hard, cold. “There’s no escape from this shit. No redemption. You justsurvive. You become what they made you, or you fucking die.”

I felt her gaze burn into me, but I couldn’t look at her. Not after that. Not after laying it all out there, raw and ugly and fuckingunfixable.

Her voice was so soft, barely a whisper, yet it cut through the thick air between us like a blade.

“Damien.”

I froze. My jaw clenchedso hard I thought my teeth might crack. Then I felt her move closer, her hand reaching out—toward me. I jerked back before her fingers could graze my face.

“Don’t,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended, venom dripping from the word. My body was tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap, and I forced myself to sit up, turning my back to her. “Justdon’t.”

I could feel her eyes on me, piercing through my defenses like she was trying to see the parts of me I’d buried so goddamn deep. Ihatedit. Hatedherfor making me feel so raw, soexposed.

“Leave it,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. “Just fuckingleaveit, Amelia.”

But she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. I heard the rustle of fabric as she moved, sitting up and shifting until she was in front of me again, straddling me, her eyes locking onto mine. Her stubbornness made me want to shake her, to yell, to push her away. Instead, I stared her down, letting the darkness rise to the surface.