Cruel Intoxication (Underground Kings 4)

“I’ll keep trying. We don’t have to give up. I know how important this is—”

I turn around and lower his hand in with mine, hating how much I notice how warm and comforting his skin is. “I know you do,” I say through tears. “I love that. I do, but we both know … we know. It’s another thing, I suppose …” I say bitterly, “I’ll have to live with that he

took from me. God, he can’t stop, can he? Even we he’s dead. There will always be something.”

“Listen to me.” Owen spins me around on the stool and grabs my hands. “He will only take what you allow him to take, Jolie. You cut your hair, it will grow back. You can be healthy. You can go to therapy. You can beat him. You can. What else do you want him to take that he hasn’t already? He took a year and a half of your life, your body, your fear; he fed off you, Jolie. Don’t let him take anything else. You can beat him. He isn’t here anymore. Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t allow anything to hurt you.” His voice is soft, delicate, covering me like a blanket on a cold night, and I want to wrap up in it. If I had the strength and opportunity, if I wasn’t carrying around this emptiness and fear. Maybe I’d have the courage to lean in and kiss him right about now.

But I don’t.

I’m not that kind of woman. I won’t ever be that woman.

He took that from me.

Maybe one day, I’ll get it back.

“I’ll help you through it,” he adds, gathering my hair in his palm. He spins me around, and we stare at each other in the mirror. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.” Owen starts to walk away and pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “You know what I mean. Unless you want to go anywhere, then you can. You aren’t a prisoner here.”

I want to laugh, but the instincts to run as far away as I can so the risk of being stuck here is strong. I know I have nothing to worry about with Owen. He’s made me feel safe, but for too long now, I’ve been stuck inside, trapped, chained.

That’s not here. I’m not trapped. I can leave when I want.

I grip the edge of the seat with my hands and try to take a deep breath. I stay where I’m at as he disappears into the dark bedroom. His footsteps echo, reminding me I’m not truly alone.

“No, fuck off. No, you can’t do it. No, you can’t watch. She deserves privacy, Heaven. You can’t be nosey. Go eat something,” Owen hollers at his friend.

I let out a breath. Owen isn’t like the man who captured me. I didn’t even know that man’s name. A year and half of being held in a small room, starved like a dog, and I never knew the man who repeatedly raped me.

I spin around in the chair and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is dull, my cheeks are slightly hollow from the weight loss, and I look tired.

My fingers brush over the bruise on my cheek. He hit me last week. I was so tired, so hungry, I barely felt the pain. I drag my fingers through my hair and touch the ends that are ruined. Owen is right.

It can grow back.

Just like everything else that man took away from me, I can grow it back. It will take time, patience, and maybe a lot of sleepless nights, but I’m ready to grow.

Even if growth scares the hell out of me.

Owen comes back into the bathroom and lifts scissors in the air. The blades of the metal slide together.

I gulp as he sets them down in front of me.

“You ready?” he asks.

I lift my eyes from the red handles and stare at him in the mirror again. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I think you can. I think it’s important for you to do it too,” he says, pushing the scissors closer to me.

I wrap my hands around the scissors and lift them. Owen gathers my hair and splits it down the middle, throwing each section over my shoulders. Gosh, I’m a mess. When I cut my hair, it will be to my shoulders.

If I cut my hair.

I lift a strand and do my best not to cry. It’s just hair. It isn’t a big deal. If it isn’t then why is this so hard? Why do I want to break the mirror in front of me? Why do I want to scream? I don’t understand. I want to hit, punch, yell, stab, shoot, and all of my anger is at him.

A man who’s already dead.

“I’m here,” Owen says, staying in my line of sight. “You can do it.”

I don’t know why he believes in me so much, but the effort he’s giving me is enough for me to believe in myself.