Her legs were jelly. Her limbs shook. It was as if a bomb had exploded, and she’d been left in the shattered aftermath. For a moment, after Damiano left, Thea did nothing. Seconds passed, and then, she roused herself, forcing herself to move. Biting her lip, Thea straightened and began to gather her clothes strewn across the cabin floor, stepping into her panties, then her skirt, before holding the torn blouse closed. Numb, so terribly numb, Thea walked quickly to her room, air bottled in her lungs, her throat raw from holding in all the emotion. But once she got there, a tear fell, and then another, and she wiped them away with a furious fist.“What have you done, you, idiot?!” Thea murmured. She hated that she cried, but she cried not out of pain, or helplessness, or despair, but fury. Yes, sheer fury! Fury with herself for being so weak. Fury with Damiano for his arrogance and ruthlessness. Fury with her father
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