Page 48 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
For a second, my brain doesn’t process it properly.
Then it does.
The gag.
The tears.
The blood on her lip.
His hand comes into frame slowly, dragging through her hair, down her cheek like he has time, like he’s not worried about anything except making sure I see it.
The caption sits across the screen.
Where she is meant to be. On her knees for me.
Something in my chest twists so violently it almost feels like it stops everything else.
And then it hits properly.
She’s hurt.
That’s fresh blood. That’s from him.
Her eyes, she’s terrified.
Not angry. Not fighting.
Terrified.
My jaw locks so hard it aches.
And she’s on her knees.
The image burns into me, sharp and wrong in a way that feels like it’s cutting through everything else, because that was never supposed to be taken from her, never supposed to be something forced out of her like this.
I told her that.
Clear.
Unshakeable.
You don’t kneel for anyone but me.
The memory hits at the same time as the image in front of me, the two colliding so hard it feels like something fractures under the impact of it.
And now she is.
For him.
Forced.
Held there.
Displayed like that.
My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms hard enough that I should feel it, but I don’t, because there’s too much else pushing through me all at once.
I should be there.
