I saw it all again. During the countless nights my mother beat me until my skin split, she held me like this. She took the blows meant for me—bottles, stools, even a cleaver—using her back as a shield.
Amid my mother’s angry shouts, Faye would grin at me and say, “Don’t be afraid. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m with you.”
The memory hit me hard. We had once embraced in blood and kissed in a downpour.
When love reaches its limit, betrayal becomes even more grotesque.
I shoved him back. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”
I stepped away, the house still thick with the stench of blood.
For a while, we kept our distance.
Harvey remained hidden under Faye’s careful protection, leaving no trace behind.
But a young man like him was always restless, always impatient. He couldn't stay away forever.
Eventually, he came looking for me.
“You've been trying to find her lately? I’ll tell you right now that she’s with me,” Harvey said, his voice brimming with smug confidence.
He was dressed head-to-toe in custom clothes, every detail sharp, every gesture proud.
Then, the bastard even added, “You think castrating me would fix everything?”