Page 132 of Adam
He doesn’t feel fear, or guilt, as long as he walks away with more power, more money, or another reason for people to fear him and his pathetic reputation.
But my mother is …
Was …
My mother was supposed to protect me. That’s a mother’s job! To protect their kids … That’s the bare minimum—protect your fucking child.
And she knew … She stood there and let it happen like my pain was acceptable, like I was expendable.
She didn’t guess, she didn’t miss it, she didn’t misunderstand it. She knew exactly what was happening and she let it continue.
That’s why Adam asked her how much I was worth. Like I was property. Like I had a price tag.
That’s why my father kept everyone away. Not out of protection or out of care. He isolated me because I was some investment he didn’t want contaminated. No friends. No boys. No freedom.
He needed me untouched.
For whatever sick, perverted thing he was building toward.
My breathing turns rapid and unstable. Sobs boil up in my chest, stealing my breath, and tears finally streak down my cheeks.
His hand clamps around the back of my neck, dragging me in until my cheek is forced against his chest. His fingers move through my hair, and the tenderness only makes my breath fracture. I break against him, sobs tearing out of me as I finally give in.
I can’t control it anymore.
“How can he—?” The rest of the thought shatters, and a louder sob rips out of me before I can stop it. “Why? Why?” The word scrapes out of my throat.
Adam’s jaw locks, teeth grinding as his grip cinches around me, pulling me tight against him. “I’ll kill him,” he breathes quietly. “I swear to you I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”
My eyes drag open with effort, burning and stinging. What … happened? I must’ve passed out. Or cried myself to sleep.
I turn my head and see him beside me. He’s flat on his back, face aimed at the ceiling, and his eyes are closed.
“Rise and shine, little orchid,” he says without opening them.
“What happened?” I push myself to sit against the headboard.
“You just had a nap.”
I swallow hard. “And you stayed like this the whole time?”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “Is there a problem?”
“No, I mean …”
He pushes himself up and leans against the headboard. “You might not believe it, but sometimes I crave the silence. That moment when everyone finally shuts the hell up and I can actually hear myself think.” He drags a thumb across the bridge of his nose. “Even though being alone with my thoughts isn’t peaceful.”
My gaze snaps to him. His expression is vacant, his eyes fixed on the infinite. “Like something in there wakes up when everything else shuts up.”
“Still. Quiet’s quiet.” He gives a small smirk, finally glancing at me. “How are you feeling?”
My chest heaves as I try to process what he just said. “What do you mean? Do you hear voices?”
“That’d at least make things interesting,” he says with a shrug. “But no. Nothing that fun.”
I chuckle quietly as if I’m relieved. Then my expression falls again.
“I’ve been so alone in my life that even that wouldn’t sound bad. I spent my whole life feeling unwanted, useless, a burden … and I never understood what was wrong with me.”
