June POV
"The fuck are you doing here?" he'd asked, his voice sharp, cold—like a blade pressed to my skin.
I didn't know what was wrong with him. Maybe I'd done something. Maybe he was just tired, haunted. But right then, I didn't care.
Because I needed him.
He was the only one who could make the filth feel like it didn't sink into my bones. The only one who made me forget—even for a second—what I'd endured. What I kept enduring.
So when he opened the door, even as his arm blocked my path, I slipped inside. I didn't give him a chance to reject me. Couldn't bear it if he did.
I grabbed him, dragged him to me, and kissed him like I was starving—like I'd die if he didn't kiss me back. Desperation bled through every motion. I was running. From the weak girl in my head. From the nights I couldn't scream. From the scent of him—the other him—still clinging to my skin.
Justin didn't disappoint.
