That alone makes me want to gouge my own eyes out with an eating utensil.
But even if she’d never found out what I did—that I advised against her asylum and asked for her to be placed with me on probation—even if all had gone according to my plan, it was wrong.
My plan vecking reeked.
Giving up Taisha was a mistake. An idiotic mistake. Believing my career was more important than her?
Stupid.
Believing the emotions she evoked in me were anything but a gift?
Asinine.
But it’s too late now.
I’ve hurt her and she won’t forgive me.
She said she hated me.
My chest constricts so tightly I can barely breathe.
She hates me.
Veck, this hurts.
I wish I’d never discovered emotion.
No, that’s a lie.
I don’t regret a single moment I spent with her.
The only thing I regret is vecking it up.
Taisha
Leylah would tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. Things could be so much worse.
Why, then, does it feel like my heart’s been ripped out of my rib cage and beaten with a shovel?
I curl up on my cot in the dormitory and face the wall, tears dripping sideways down my face.
This is it. My new existence. I’m free. No longer a slave. Lamira assures me my asylum will be granted. And yet I can’t even breathe through the crushing weight on my chest.
The loss of my best friend on the planet.
My lover.
My master.
I called him that. He made me grovel. Made rules for me and punished me. All to satisfy some sick desire of his to keep me without mating me.
To use me and throw me out.
More hot tears course down my nose, across my temple, dripping into my ear.
I want to churn my anger around and around, but I keep tripping up.
I keep remembering the tenderness.