The feeling of Rain’s body seizing against mine, the helplessness of watching her tumble to the floor at my feet—my handcuffed arms unable to catch her convulsing body—it destroys whatever’s left of me.
As the officer drags me toward the front door, I feel my soul, my heart, my fucking will to live disappearing with every step I take. They don’t belong to me anymore. Honestly, they never did. They belong to the little black-haired rag doll twitching on the floor back there.
By the time that asshole shoves me down the front steps, the crushing pressure in my chest is reduced to a hollow ache—just phantom pains from my amputated heart. By the time we get to his pig mobile, I hardly remember having feelings at all. And by the time he shoves me inside and slams the door, I’ve gone completely … fucking … numb.
I was never meant to get the girl. To have the happily ever after. That’s not how my world works, and this shit right here is proof. Rain has shelter, a means of self-defense, and money to get supplies. There’s nothing left for me to do. My girl—and my kid, if my suspicions are right—are going to have as good a life as anyone could hope for post–April 23.
And me?
In a few days, I’ll be fucking fertilizer, and I won’t have to feel this shit at all.