I snort. “None of this is okay.”

“Maybe not, but you didn’t hurt me. Not like you’re thinking.” A beat passes as he looks away, seemingly at a loss for any more words. Then, “And it wasn’t you. Not really—”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” I sneer. As quick as it seemed to come, some of that cold numbness retreats, leaving me feeling raw and unhinged in a way I haven’t felt in years. Possibly ever. And without the promised haze of drugs or, hell, even alcohol—at least not in the foreseeable future—I’m not quite sure if I can survive it. Not now, after everything.

Shaking my head, I stomp past him toward the door. It’s only at the last possible second that I stop. My hand freezes on the knob.

He’s out there.

I know it’s not true, and yet I can picture my dad on the other side of the door so vividly it’s a wonder I’m not fucking rocking in a corner.

“Way—”

The glass knob rattles under my hand. “We shouldn’t be here.”

A beat. “Reggie—”

“No!” I whirl around. “I don’t care who lives here now. As far as I’m concerned, this is still his house. How the fuck could you bring me here? How the fuck could you let this happen?”

A tear spills over his cheek, and I only realize then that I’m crying too. Big fat tears that roll down my cheeks.

It’s ridiculous that I’m blaming him, when it’s not like he owes me anything. In fact, if anything, I fucking deserve this for all the hurt I’ve put him through. This is my punishment.

I grit my teeth and point to the open closet next to me. “See how the flooring doesn’t match there? There used to be carpet in there. When I was six, I asked my dad why he hurt me and Ivy’s dad didn’t.” I scrunch up my face. “He beat me with his belt until I nearly bit right through my tongue, and then he locked me in my room for over three days.”

Will tenses, face visibly paling as his eyes widen with horror as I lift my shirt and twist slightly so he can see the pale, light pink scars peppered over my right hip and lower back. They’re barely noticeable now—no longer raised since I grew a lot since then, and the skin has long since stretched out.

“These were from the metal buckle. They scarred because they got infected.”

He shakes his head as he takes an unsteady step back in a futile attempt to escape what I’m telling him.