Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

I once read somewhere that we mature with damage, not with age. If that’s the case, I was an old-age pensioner in the emotional stakes.

If my parents’ relationship was a representation of love, then I wanted no part of it. I would rather be alone.

I was annoyed with myself for being the kind of person who cried when angry. I wanted to be a shouter. A shouter was much better than a crier. I was disgusted with myself for freezing, too. He had no right to put his hands on me and I did nothing to stop him.

People talked about the fight-or-flight instinct. I had neither. Instead of fighting back or fleeing, I froze.

I thought I might be doing a good job, but if I pushed too hard too fast, she would retreat back in her shell. I wanted to smash that fucking shell and the bastards responsible for making her hide there in the first place. She was lovely. Fucking lovely. She didn’t need to be hiding any of her shine behind those bleeding shutters.

He’ll let you down, the defensive part of my brain argued. He’ll hurt you worse than all the others.

I was starving for her and everything she was. Every part of her. Inside and out. I wanted to fight all her battles. I wanted to give her all her smiles and make her laugh and snatch her away from the rest of the world and keep her all to myself. I just wanted her. For keeps.

“Hi, Johnny.” “Boom, boom, fucking boom, Da,” I groaned, slapping a hand against my chest. “I’m done for.”