What I wouldn’t give to go back to being that person. Somebody who knew what she was doing, what was expected of her. Even though it was grueling, I wasn’t afraid the way I am now.

All eyes are on me, waiting for a response. I don’t know why it matters so much. “To tell you the truth, I sort of fell out of love with it after a while. When I was younger, I used to really love it. Pushing myself, seeing what I could accomplish. But then it got so serious. There was so much pressure. I couldn’t enjoy it anymore.”

I glance around the table, shrugging. “By the end, I think I was doing it for my mom. She had invested so much and was hoping so hard that I would succeed. I felt like I owed it to her. But it wasn’t because I loved it.” And this is the first time I’ve ever admitted that to anybody. It’s pretty sad that it has to be these three, my tormentors, my torturers.

“It is difficult when we feel we aren’t living up to our parents’ expectations,” James muses.

I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t like the feeling of my life being dissected, especially not by these guys. “What about your mom?” I ask, looking across the table to Colt. “Did you ever feel like you couldn’t live up to her expectations?”

It was an innocent question. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was only hoping to change the subject away from me. They don’t really talk about their mom, so I was hoping… I don’t know what I was hoping. To make conversation, I guess, rather than sitting here in silence. Maybe if we could relate on something, they might be less likely to hurt me?

Either way, it backfired. James slams his wine glass onto the table hard enough to send liquid sloshing over the rim. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he barks.

“Don’t you ever speak of her,” Nix warns, his eyes slits.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“No, you didn’t know, but you had to go and run your stupid fucking mouth anyway,” James growls. “You’re not the one asking questions around here, understood? We are. Don’t ever, ever mention her again.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Colt snarls.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anybody. Nobody told me—”

“Why the fuck should you have to be told?” James demands. His face is red, and now he’s breathing heavily. I remember him looking this way, sounding this way when he was choking the life out of me. My body goes icy cold, freezing solid.

And there’s a knife in the man’s hand. Oh god. Is this it? Is this when he snaps?