Trapped (Bullied Book 4) (Bullied Series) Vera Hollins (best large ereader txt) 📖

my cheek. “You really do have a big fucking heart, don’t you?”

I blushed, shrugging. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to whine all the time about having to brush my teeth. My mom always had to remind me to brush them, and I hated it because I didn’t see the point. I had to brush them over and over again, and it was the most annoying thing because it’s for life. Unless you want to have bad teeth.” I let out a giggle. “I guess for you, dealing with PTSD is like having to brush your teeth a hundred times a day, but no matter how much you brush them, they keep deteriorating.”

His lips lifted in something resembling a smile. “That’s a good one, but here’s the thing—you can always get fake teeth. I can’t get a life free of my mental illness.”

It was so disheartening hearing him speak like this. I wanted to say something to lift his mood, but more than that, he needed my understanding. It was true. He had to live with his PTSD, but life didn’t end there.

“You’re a fighter, Blake. You’re able to get out of bed every day and go to school, and that says a lot.”

He curled his lips inward. “Yeah, I get up, go to school, and treat people like shit. I’m living the life.”

“Then why do you do it? Why do you bully?”

He balled his hands into fists. “Because I’m filled with so much anger. Sometimes it feels that no matter what I do, it will never disappear, and I feel powerless. I know it’s sick and wrong, but in those moments, it’s my coping mechanism. It feels like it’s the only way for me to gain control over my life and my emotions, and for a while, I can get rid of the constant pressure and stress.”

I thought about his words, trying to put myself in his shoes. I couldn’t sympathize, because I never wanted to hurt anyone and bullying was wrong no matter the reasons behind it, but I wanted to understand him. I wanted to understand his reasons.

“It’s like smoking,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Smoking?”

“Smoking helps you get rid of anxiety, right? My dad smoked a couple of years ago, and he said he couldn’t quit for the life of him. It helped him get rid of stress. But he knew all the while that smoking was bad. He knew he was making a poor choice by choosing cigarettes, not only for himself but also for his family, who were worried for his health, but he still chose to smoke.

“But the relief is always temporary. You always need another cigarette. You always need that next inhalation of smoke that damages your body more and more. It’s the same with drugs, alcohol, bullying, and so on. So in the end, it’s about dealing with negatives in a negative way. We all do it at some point in our lives, in one way or another. I did it when I made myself throw up. But it’s never the solution.” I smiled at him. “So instead of bullying, how about you cope with negatives in a positive way? You’re already doing it. Basketball, listening to music…there are so many healthy options.”

He didn’t say anything to that, watching me, captivated.

I blushed. “What?”

He ran his teeth over his lower lip. “Nothing. It’s just that I like listening to you. You have a calming voice, you know that?”

My cheeks turned even redder. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how he found my high-pitched, childlike voice calming, but it made me happy nevertheless. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you. Again. You helped me again, and I don’t think you know what that means to me.”

“No need to thank me for that. It’s the human thing to do.”

“But it’s not just a human thing to do. There’s something about you, something purely good.”

He laced his fingers through my hair, and it was getting harder to breathe under his warm gaze. He cupped my chin with his other hand and ran his thumb over my lips, stealing my breath away. My eyes went to his tattoo.

“Um…” I started.

“Yes?”

“There’s something I’d really like to know.”

He grinned and pulled his hands away. “As if I haven’t poured my heart out to you already.” He chuckled when another blush permeated my cheeks. “Just teasing you. Come on. Say it.”

“I understand that you don’t want to talk about triggers, and I hope this won’t be triggering, but you mentioned… Am I…?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, but am I really your trigger?”

He exhaled a long breath and pinched his brows together. “You are, but not in that sense.”

“What do you mean?”

He moved and stood up. His body was on full display for me as he walked over to the windows, clad only in his boxers. It was definitely not the time for it, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from running down his impressive back, sexy round butt, and long, defined legs.

“In the beginning, my PTSD was so bad I couldn’t sleep for weeks and had up to twenty flashbacks a day.”

I gaped at him. “Twenty?”

“Yes. I had flashbacks and panic attacks, and when I managed to fall asleep, all I had were the nightmares of that time in the basement. I couldn’t go anywhere without breaking down, and this lasted for a really long time. Combine that with the constant anxiety and depression, and you had a complete fucking mess.

“Until my therapy started showing results. I could finally sleep again and had no nightmares. The panic attacks were gone. I only had one flashback a week, sometimes two. I still felt explosive anger, but at least I could deal with my triggers. But then you came, and the hell started again…from the first day I saw you.”

“But I don’t understand. Why?”

He placed his hand against the glass, looking through the window at the starry sky. The silence stretched until he let out a long sigh.

“This will sound strange, but when