wait here. I’m not removing my weapons.”
Older Dude shot me a look. “You needn’t remove your arms, Ms. Colbana. If you’d wish to speak to Chang here or inside, it’s all the same. You’re welcome to carry the weapons.” The eye contact lasted for ten seconds and then he went back to studying my toes.
What. The. Hell.
I couldn’t stay outside here where they wouldn’t look at me. It was hard enough being around people who looked at me out of the corner of their eyes and guessed about what had happened, but when they just wouldn’t look at me?
Without saying anything else, I headed inside. Just before I pushed through the doors, I glanced back. They weren’t watching me. They still had their gazes on their damn feet.
As did the men standing just inside the doors of the rec club.
This was the place where I’d once had a man grab my tits under the pretense of giving me a pat-down for weapons. As I started toward the security set up, one of them stepped forward, gaze downcast.
“Ms. Colbana.”
He gestured to the door off to the side. I knew where it led. Chang’s office.
I all but lunged for it, so relieved to get out of there. Away from people who couldn’t look at me.
Shame and disgust and fear and humiliation crawled inside me. It was like it was written on my skin what had been done to me. Was that why they wouldn’t look at me? Was that why they didn’t want to see me? Because of what Jude had made me into?
His bloodwhore .
Bile churned in my throat and when a door caught my eye, I hurled myself inside.
It was a restroom, far more opulent than one would expect just from looking at the outside of the club, and even the general makeup of it. It was a teen’s club, made for them to roughhouse, run wild and cause trouble, all without getting into too much trouble. It wasn’t built with elegance in mind. But that was on the other side of the door.
This was Chang’s territory and his stamp was everywhere, even in the damned women’s room. Walls the color of burnt umber surrounded me as I leaned back against the door, sucking in one desperate breath after another. After about sixty seconds, I thought I could move without shattering, so I shoved away from the door and stumbled over to the sink. It was black marble, threaded with gold and cool under my hands.
Staring into the mirror at the pale circle of my face, I tried to understand what they’d seen that kept them from looking at me. Was it that obvious? Or did they just know ?
They just know …
This time, when the bile crowded up my throat, I couldn’t swallow it back down and I doubled over the sink, emptying my stomach. The sour, acrid stink of sickness wrapped around me as I convulsed, time and again.
Even when there was nothing left inside me, I retched. When the spasms finally passed, I rested my head against the marble and waited for the burning sting of shame to fade away.
It would take years, though.
The taste in my mouth, the stink of my own vomit pushed me to move. I straightened up and turned on the water, washing away the evidence of my weakness, while in the back of my mind I heard a familiar, mocking voice. Useless waste. Pathetic weakling—
“Shut up, you vile old bitch.” Cupping my hands under the stream of water, I splashed it on my burning face. With the water dripping from my hands, cheeks and nose, I straightened up and looked at my reflection. The woman staring back at me was red-eyed, tired.
And she looked weak.
Not entirely broken, but she didn’t look strong.
The tattoos spiraling up my neck were a stark splash of color against the pallor of my skin and I focused on them, on each mark etched on me. The broken blade that I could barely see. The spear. The snake. The fang. Hidden by my shirt was the leopard. Not easily seen by others, but still a mark I carried on me.
I looked at myself and saw something, somebody who was broken.
If I acted broken, I was going to be treated that way.
* * *
Older Dude shot me a look. “You needn’t remove your arms, Ms. Colbana. If you’d wish to speak to Chang here or inside, it’s all the same. You’re welcome to carry the weapons.” The eye contact lasted for ten seconds and then he went back to studying my toes.
What. The. Hell.
I couldn’t stay outside here where they wouldn’t look at me. It was hard enough being around people who looked at me out of the corner of their eyes and guessed about what had happened, but when they just wouldn’t look at me?
Without saying anything else, I headed inside. Just before I pushed through the doors, I glanced back. They weren’t watching me. They still had their gazes on their damn feet.
As did the men standing just inside the doors of the rec club.
This was the place where I’d once had a man grab my tits under the pretense of giving me a pat-down for weapons. As I started toward the security set up, one of them stepped forward, gaze downcast.
“Ms. Colbana.”
He gestured to the door off to the side. I knew where it led. Chang’s office.
I all but lunged for it, so relieved to get out of there. Away from people who couldn’t look at me.
Shame and disgust and fear and humiliation crawled inside me. It was like it was written on my skin what had been done to me. Was that why they wouldn’t look at me? Was that why they didn’t want to see me? Because of what Jude had made me into?
His bloodwhore .
Bile churned in my throat and when a door caught my eye, I hurled myself inside.
It was a restroom, far more opulent than one would expect just from looking at the outside of the club, and even the general makeup of it. It was a teen’s club, made for them to roughhouse, run wild and cause trouble, all without getting into too much trouble. It wasn’t built with elegance in mind. But that was on the other side of the door.
This was Chang’s territory and his stamp was everywhere, even in the damned women’s room. Walls the color of burnt umber surrounded me as I leaned back against the door, sucking in one desperate breath after another. After about sixty seconds, I thought I could move without shattering, so I shoved away from the door and stumbled over to the sink. It was black marble, threaded with gold and cool under my hands.
Staring into the mirror at the pale circle of my face, I tried to understand what they’d seen that kept them from looking at me. Was it that obvious? Or did they just know ?
They just know …
This time, when the bile crowded up my throat, I couldn’t swallow it back down and I doubled over the sink, emptying my stomach. The sour, acrid stink of sickness wrapped around me as I convulsed, time and again.
Even when there was nothing left inside me, I retched. When the spasms finally passed, I rested my head against the marble and waited for the burning sting of shame to fade away.
It would take years, though.
The taste in my mouth, the stink of my own vomit pushed me to move. I straightened up and turned on the water, washing away the evidence of my weakness, while in the back of my mind I heard a familiar, mocking voice. Useless waste. Pathetic weakling—
“Shut up, you vile old bitch.” Cupping my hands under the stream of water, I splashed it on my burning face. With the water dripping from my hands, cheeks and nose, I straightened up and looked at my reflection. The woman staring back at me was red-eyed, tired.
And she looked weak.
Not entirely broken, but she didn’t look strong.
The tattoos spiraling up my neck were a stark splash of color against the pallor of my skin and I focused on them, on each mark etched on me. The broken blade that I could barely see. The spear. The snake. The fang. Hidden by my shirt was the leopard. Not easily seen by others, but still a mark I carried on me.
I looked at myself and saw something, somebody who was broken.
If I acted broken, I was going to be treated that way.
* * *
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