Off the Grid (Full Throttle, #1)

by K. Bromberg

“maybe I don’t want to date anyone. Men are more trouble than they’re worth. And two, I meet plenty of people—when I want to.”

“You’ve simply had bad luck with men. The plus side? Bad luck can be broken.” Or maybe it’s me who’s broken.

What happened is dead and gone. So what if it’s made me indifferent to sex? That it’s made me push people away?

I feel ridiculous. Like absolutely and utterly ridiculous for how I reacted. The mini freak-out was completely unwarranted. And the fact that I let the panic win the war

“I have a feeling you’re the kind of woman who leaves a mark.”

But it didn’t stop the trauma from making me believe differently. From changing how I presented myself to the world.

One should never dread intimacy and yet that has been exactly how I’ve felt since

actions bind me. His touch shackle me to feelings of doubt and insecurity. His words inhibit my own sexuality. Constrain my body’s reception of any other touch.

I may not be able to fully replace or repair those parts he stole from me,

“You trust me with your body, with the broken you think you are but really aren’t, but you won’t trust me with your thoughts,” he says softly, causing tears to well in my eyes before I blink them away. “You’re one to talk.” It’s a defense mechanism I learned . . . after everything. Deflect. Redirect. Dissociate.

But what I feel is stupid. Stupid for not telling my best friends. For thinking they’d judge me for it. For worrying they’d think differently of me.

I felt safe.” She meets my eyes for the first time. “That’s what I remember more than anything.

That he’d pull the lovers scorned card and no one would believe me.”

“I know.” Shame swims in her eyes.

“If he knew . . . how would he have looked at me then? With shame? Embarrassment? Like I should have known better?” Emotion floods her voice. She didn’t go to her parents. Not because they wouldn’t believe her, but because she didn’t want them to look at her differently. Because she didn’t want her father to look at her—his world—and see damage.

“It was hard enough living with myself most days. Walking away, changing my course . . . you have to understand that.”

“I never intended for anyone else to know. I refuse to be the victim ever again. Me talking about it makes me that.”

today startled me more than I want to admit. Especially after all this time. Especially because I thought I was so much stronger than today demonstrated.

“He didn’t break me.”

“I felt nothing. No sensation, no pleasure, no anything. He’d won. He’d broken me

“You made yourself see it. You may have put your trust in me, but you did the work to make yourself feel comfortable to wear this tonight. You did this.”