"Luther? Where are you going?"
Lych's voice cracked as I finally turned my back. It hurt. It hurt so much.
F-ck.
This is all my fault. Everytime I get trapped, I hate the feeling of the collar squeezing my throat so much that I bite and thrash around to escape—
Then Emiliano will let the leash extend enough for me to actually believe I am free.
Only to pull me in my neck, ripping me apart from whatever home I would find, burning all I've built to the ground no matter who was inside—
Showing me that I'll never escape him.
It hurt.
It hurt when I thought Lior died because of me.
It hurt when Tom was left for dead cut open.
It hurts now that the same thing happened to Lych.
I am poison. A curse.
Everything I touch and care for withers away and I can't stop it.
From the moment Claus threw me into Emiliano's arms half a year ago, I became nothing but a propriety.
I used to be important. I used to run the political scene with my intelligence.
So what if they hated me?
