Shattered

Chapter 67: Breathe

Violet's POV:

Stealing wasn't new to me. Obviously. I had Max's precious flash drive. However, to not fall too deep down the dark rabbit hole of crime, I never stole from good people. Even when I was hungry, even when I was freezing, even when I was on the run and I had absolutely nothing, I never stole from good people. I only stole from assholes.

That was why I felt so guilty about stealing one of Xander and Addie's cars. I'd abandoned it somewhere else, took a different car and hid the keys. I just had to let them know where it was somewhere between the millions of calls and texts I was getting from all of them.

The only calls and texts that were hard to ignore were Kaden's.

Every time his name came up, I swiped it away before I saw any of the message. I had enough sense to recognize that even entertaining communication with Kaden before I tracked Max down wasn't good. He made me weak. He made me emotional. He made me want to fall in his arms and agree to let him handle everything, which was completely insane. It wasn't his fight. Max would go ballistic knowing of Kaden's existence. He might even go after Kaden harder than he came after me.

There was no way in I was letting Kaden near any of it.

Even all that wasn't enough to distract me. My hands still shook unless I gripped the steering wheel until I lost circulation. Anger was the obvious thing to focus on. Anger would get me through to do what I needed to do. Fear wasn't welcome, but it reared its head all the same and I'd spent the last several hours on the road trying to figure out why. Was I afraid of Max winning and locking me up with him again? Did I really believe that asshole would outsmart me this time, even with all the careful planning? Sure, I was on my own, and a gang short of help, but the brunt of my plan would still work.

Hopefully.

If I really let myself dive into the abysmal horrors I faced in the den, there was one thing that scared me the most. Max's ability to manipulate so goddamn well that I could lose myself. Even knowing it was fucked up, there were moments with him that made no sense because I felt good and I shouldn't have. I wanted to believe despite all the ways I was messed up, I at least had a good head on my shoulders. I knew right from wrong. I was self-aware enough to step away when I knew a relationship wasn't good, just like I had to with Lola. But with him...

Leaving was almost painful. When I finally broke free of the property line, I was sprinting. It was the middle of the night. Blood dripped down my fingertips, my face ached from the blow Rich delivered, my shin had a gash, and I had a nasty burn on my shoulder. For a second, I almost felt insane enough that I could hear Max's voice in my head. Don't leave, little Rose, who will protect you out there? I protect myself. Who will care for you out there? I'll care for myself. You have no one but me and you know it. I don't need anyone. No one will understand you like I do. We are one in the same, my Rose. Where will you find a place to belong? I never belonged anywhere before, I don't need to now.

He almost won. He'd somehow taken over so much of me that I stopped running and sank to my knees, sobbing because it hurt so much and I couldn't figure out why. There was nothing I wanted more than to run away from him but every step away felt heavier, felt more unbearable. Isn't it better to be loved too much than never loved again? His voice echoed in my head that night. This is not love, you fucking psycho.

I almost lost that night, but it wasn't because I didn't get out. It was because even from a distance, he had power over me that I couldn't understand. It's horrible to be self-aware enough to know it's not right but somehow not enough for every fiber of you to pull away like it should. I almost lost, but I dug deep inside myself to find real love and I pictured my mom. I pictured her never giving up, I pictured her and I in the rare moments that weren't complete darkness but had a small glimmer of hope in them. That hope was only because of her love. Real love. Not a twisted, psychotic obsession. It was remembering what real love was supposed to feel like that got me on my feet running again.