Chapter 89

The torture finally ended. The silence that followed was deafening. I lay crumpled on the sofa, limbs heavy with exhaustion, my skin raw with pain. Every breath felt jagged. The tears came silently. I didn't even try to wipe them away. Garcia didn't look at me or speak. He just buckled his pants, turned on his heel, and walked away like I wasn't even there. He didn't even spare a glance at me. The hollowness he left behind hit harder than the pain. I usually stayed at his place afterward, waiting for my body and mind to recover before facing the world again. But not this time. Not after this. Every part of me screamed to leave. I sat up with a grunt, feeling every bruise ignite. Pulling my jeans on felt like dragging sandpaper across open wounds. I whimpered. The pain brought fresh tears to my eyes. I blinked them away and gritted my teeth. I knew I wouldn't be able to sit for days—hockey was out of the question. The thought enraged me. The coach, the whole team, had been buzzing about