𝔘𝔫𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔡. || 𝔗𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔡𝔡

𝔅𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔲𝔯𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢

Beneath the Surface

"Got my demons on the run, but they catch me when I fall; fightin' through the night, you're the reason I stand tall."

I thought I'd let my guard down, at least enough for him to see that I was trying. But even as I sat beside him, the silence in the room felt loud, pressing against my chest, squeezing out the air. I wasn't sure I could tell him everything—especially the pieces that still had their claws sunk into me. Yet, the way Michael looked at me, with that steady gaze, like he could handle whatever I threw at him, made it harder to keep holding back.

He set his phone aside, his attention now fully on me. "What's wrong love?" he asked, but his eyes were sharp, catching every little twitch, every sign I was holding back.

"You ever feel like your past won't let you breathe?" I murmured, barely meeting his eyes. I'd never been good at talking about the old wounds. They were mine, buried deep, and I didn't like bringing them up just to bleed all over someone else.

"Always," he replied, his tone rough. "But I know that look, J. You don't gotta carry that shit alone."

I took a shaky breath, staring down at my hands. "It's Tye," I admitted, the name feeling like acid on my tongue. "No matter what I do, it's like he's always there, hiding in the shadows, making sure I remember I can't outrun him."

Michael's eyes darkened, his jaw tensing as he slid closer, his hand finding mine. He didn't need to say anything—I could feel the anger radiating off him, a fierce protectiveness that felt almost tangible. "What'd he do?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight as the memories clawed their way back up. "He broke me down, piece by piece," I whispered, my voice barely holding steady. "He'd control everything—where I went, who I talked to, even what I wore. If I didn't fall in line..." My voice cracked, and I had to stop, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

Michael's grip tightened, grounding me. "Take your time, baby. You ain't gotta rush it."

I squeezed his hand back, needing that anchor as I let the memories flood over me. "I was staying at Koryn's one night, trying to get away from him. I thought I'd finally slipped out of his grip, that maybe I could start fresh. But he had people watching. One of his goons showed up at Koryn's door, banging like he was about to bust it down. Koryn tried to stop him, but he dragged me back to Tye, like I was some package that needed delivering."

I paused, the nausea creeping in as I remembered the way Tye had looked at me, like he was bored, like my fear was just another one of his games. "He didn't yell. He never yelled. He just smiled, said I couldn't keep running. Said he'd show me what happened when I tried."

I blinked back the tears, but they fell anyway, the warmth of Michael's hand keeping me steady. "He had a gun—he always did—but that night, he didn't even use it to scare me. He just cracked it across my face, like it was nothing, like I was nothing. I tasted blood, and all I could think was, 'This is it. This is how it ends.'"

Michael's face was a mask of rage, but he didn't interrupt. He just held me tighter, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping me. "But you got out," he said, his voice a low growl. "You fought your way out."

I nodded, the memory blurring. "I did. I don't remember much after that, just the feeling of needing to escape, like I was running on pure adrenaline. I don't even know how I made it out of there, but somehow, I did. I've been running ever since."