Chapter 83

Chapter 83
Blaze

“You fuck me when you were gonna marry another woman?”

The words keep echoing in my head like some sick joke on repeat. I don’t even know if I actually said them out loud or if they’re just bouncing around in my skull, trying to fucking shatter me from the inside.

I stare at the empty room.

He’s gone.

Gone like none of it meant shit.

Gone like I wasn’t enough.

My lips part, and I laugh. Loud, sharp, bitter. The kind of laugh that tastes like blood. I run a hand through my hair and pull hard. “God, you’re such a fucking idiot,” I mutter to myself. “Fucking idiot.”

I stand there, bare, sticky, shaking.

His cum’s still dripping down my thigh.

I hate it. I hate that he touched me. I hate that I let him. I hate that I wanted him so goddamn bad, I didn’t care about the signs, the silence, the hesitation in his touch, the lies curled behind his tongue.

I wrap my arms around myself like that’s gonna hold anything in. Like I’m not already split wide open.

I walk to the bathroom.

My legs feel like they’re dragging bones.

I flick the light on and blink at my reflection. My lips are swollen. There’s a fading red mark on my collarbone where he sucked too hard. I stare at it. And I think I might punch the mirror. But I don’t.

Instead, I step into the shower and turn the water all the way hot.

I scrub like I can wash it off. Scrub like I can get his breath out of my skin. Scrub like maybe if I peel deep enough, I’ll find the part of me that didn’t fall for him.

But there’s nothing there.

Just me.

Just a fucking mess.

The water stings. I let it.

I stay in there too long. Until my fingertips wrinkle and my chest hurts from breathing. When I step out, I feel cold all over, even though steam’s still clinging to the glass.

I towel off, wrap it low around my waist, and stand there for a second. Just standing. Not moving. Not thinking.

Then I dress.

Black jeans. The ones with the rip at the knee. Plain shirt. Jacket. I yank the drawer open and grab socks, boots. My movements are stiff, mechanical. Like I’m trying to outrun my own brain.

I towel-dry my hair roughly, not giving a shit how it looks.

I walk to the dresser, fingers curling around the motorcycle key.

The Ducati.

He gave me that bike.

Back then it felt like a gift. Now it feels like a joke. Like everything with him.

I should go to bed.

It’s past midnight.

But my skin’s crawling and my chest is hollow and my hands won’t stop shaking.

I pick up my phone and call Alexi. She doesn’t answer. I try again. Nothing.

“Fuck,” I mutter, throwing the phone down.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I don’t need anyone right now. Or maybe she knew better than to pick up, 'cause I sound like shit.

I walk out. The building’s silent. Streets are empty. It’s too late or too early for anyone to be out.

The bike roars to life when I start it.

The sound fills my ears, drowns the thoughts.

I twist the throttle, hard, and shoot off.

I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care. I just need wind in my face, something real, something that doesn’t lie. The road’s quiet, black asphalt stretches like it’s waiting for me to come apart on it.

I think about him.

About how he looked standing there with nothing but a towel and a mouth full of cruelty. How flat his voice was. Like I was nothing. Like I never meant shit. Like he didn’t touch me hours ago with hands that trembled.

I should hate him.

I do hate him.

But it doesn’t stop the ache. Doesn’t stop my fucking heart from cracking with every turn I take.

I grip the handles tighter. “You’re such a fucking moron,” I growl to myself. “You let him in. You let him fucking wreck you again. What did you think he’d do? Pick you over his rich daddy? Over his status? You were always temporary to him. A phase. A fling. A fucking charity case.”

I blink hard. Vision gets blurry for a second.

But I don’t stop.

I go faster. Wind claws at me, bites my cheeks, tugs my shirt. It’s cold as hell now. Sky’s too dark to see anything ahead, but I don’t care. The faster I go, the more numb I feel.

And I need to feel numb.

'Cause the truth is, I loved him.

I didn’t just want him—I fucking loved him.

And I hate myself for it.

The lights blur past. I barely see them. My mind’s stuck on his voice, his words, how he said he pitied me, like everything was just out of guilt. Like I’m some broken project he patched up out of boredom.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but they’re already wet again.

“Fuck you,” I whisper. “Fuck you for making me feel like I was worth something. Fuck you for making me believe it.”

I swerve past an empty intersection.

There’s no one out here. No one to stop me.

I should go home.

But I don’t.

Because home feels like a place I had when he held me. Not a location.

I ride harder.

Push the bike to its limit.

Engine growling beneath me like it’s trying to keep me grounded.

It doesn’t.

Nothing does.

The tears come again, but they’re quiet this time.

No gasping. No sobbing.

Just water running down my cheeks and the occasional sniff as I swallow it all back.

I keep riding.

I don’t see the car.

I don’t even process it until it’s too late.

There’s a flash of headlights. A blaring horn. Screeching tires. And I slam the brakes, but the back wheel slips. I feel the whole thing jerk beneath me.

And then I’m flying.

No weight. No sound. Just air.

Time slows down.

I hear a crash. Metal on metal. My shoulder hits the pavement. Something cracks—I don’t know what, maybe my ribs. My head hits last.

Pain explodes across my skull. White hot. Splitting.

And then it’s quiet again.

Like the world hit mute.

The only thing I hear is my own ragged breathing.

I blink. Everything’s sideways. Red taillights. Dark sky.

Someone’s running toward me. I hear a man yelling. “Call an ambulance! Jesus Christ, call 911!”

I try to speak.

Nothing comes out.

My tongue’s thick. My chest is tight.

I can’t move.

I feel the cold seeping in, even though the ground's still warm from the asphalt. I want to get up. I want to scream. I want to call someone. Anyone.

But all I do is lie there.

Faint sounds in the distance. Sirens.

And I close my eyes.

The last thing I remember… is the sound of someone breathing hard near me. A voice, shaking. “Stay with me, okay? Just fucking stay with me.”

But I’m already gone.