Chapter Six
Kytten
TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a graphic representation of self-harm and cutting. If you suffer from any triggers, PLEASE, PLEASE, take extreme caution before reading this chapter. Your mental health is more important to me than my fictional story.
I was still here.
Val asked me to stay, and I couldn’t tell her no. She asked me to watch over them all. Her daughter, her son, her granddaughter. And the other woman we placed here.
There was no explanation as to why Val put her here. We never put two survivors in the same area. There was too great a risk. But when it came to Amber, Val didn’t follow the rules she put in place.
No, Amber was special.
We all knew it. We all expected to be pushed aside once she was no longer in danger. Well, I did anyway. And now that time had come.
Jane was dead.
When Sin took Dante back to New York, all hell had broken loose. Jane had shot Sin. Dante had strangled Jane.
Amber was now safe.
So why was I still here?
I slipped off the bed in the motel. This shitbag was the only thing close enough to stay in. Well, there was that bed-and-breakfast, but that shit wasn’t me.
Maybe it would have been if things had been different. If I had grown up in a normal home. With a mom and a dad. And my brother.
Val tried to give me a normal life. As much as she was able. She hadn’t had a normal life either. Her story inspired us all to do what we did.
None of the girls in the Nyght Nymphs had grown up in what would be considered normal environments. We all had our demons. Monsters that screamed inside our heads.
Mine were screaming now. Begging to be let out. I would never get any sleep if I didn’t release them. So I reached over and grabbed the knife.
I studied it for a minute. It was a gift from Val, for my twelfth birthday. My first birthday with her and the Nyght Nymphs. She’d gone all out with a cake, decorations and presents. All the girls spoiled me on that first birthday without my brother.
“Happy Birthday, Kytten!” Val and the girls shouted as I came down the stairs into the living room.
She remembered.
When I woke up, I immediately started crying, knowing what day it was. My first birthday without Thorne. I missed him so much.
But when I heard them call out ‘Happy Birthday,’ I cried for a different reason.
I felt like I had a family. I had been with Val for months. I never expected her to remember. But she did.
“We have cake for breakfast,” she began, and I gasped. She remembered everything. Val and I talked every night. I told her about my brother, and my mom. About what she did for our birthdays.
And she remembered.
It was the first birthday all about me.
Almost.
April 4 th .
A day I no longer celebrated. But that’s a story for another time. Those first few birthdays without Thorne were so hard. But Val always made them extra special.
She even bought gifts for Thorne.
That was where this knife came from. She had bought it for Thorne. The tag on the box had his name on it. But she let me open it anyway.
She told me he would get a present every year. And it would be my job to keep them safe.
Until we found him.
Our birthday was coming up fast. Only a few weeks away and it was a big one.
It was our twenty-first birthday, and all I wanted was to spend this milestone with my brother.
But I still hadn’t found him. Ten years had passed since he left me to get food and never came back.
I turned the blade in my hand, watching as light reflected off the metal. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but it was the only way to let the monsters out. Let them have their way so they left me alone for a little while.
I sat on the bed, legs crossed. My hands ran over the tattoos, feeling the small scars that were hidden among the colorful ink injected into my skin. No one could see them.
But I could feel them. Sometimes it was enough to feel the scars. But then other times, like tonight, when the memories came rushing in, I needed more.
I needed to silence the voices. The ones that reminded me of everything I had lost. They never talked about the things I had gained. They were suspiciously quiet about that.
Their only goal was to torment.
Not to heal.
The pain healed.
The pain was something tangible. Something I could experience and not just feel. Something I could show to others so they understood my torment. But I never did.
They wouldn’t understand.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel. It was that I felt too much. I had my own shit, and I had Thorne’s too. That was how I knew he was still alive.
I could feel him. I had read studies about twins who were separated. How they still felt things their sibling felt, even when they were miles apart. Even when they didn’t know where the other one was.
I didn’t know where Thorne was; could he still feel me the way I felt him? Did he feel it every time I placed the blade against my skin? Did he hear the monsters that screamed at me? Did he have his own monsters that I couldn’t hear?
Was he happy?
Without me?
I wasn’t happy, not without him. But I didn’t tell anyone that. I let them believe I was happy. Let them see the happy little Kytten. The playful Kytten. The fun Kytten.
I didn’t let them see the sad Kytten.
The angry Kytten.
The damaged Kytten.
I slid the knife against my leg, tracing the vine tattoo that wound around my thigh. The roses and the thorns. When the blood appeared, I smeared it into my skin.
The monsters screamed.
And I fell asleep.
“Aren’t you just the cutest little thing!”
Those were words I heard often, and when I heard them as I stepped into the bakery, I plastered the smile on my face like I always did.
Never let ‘em see you sweat, right?
“Good morning,” I returned in my sickly-sweet voice. I had perfected it over the years.
I’d had to.
People saw the tiny little woman with the pink hair and tattoos and expected a pixie. So I gave them the pixie.
“My name’s Trudy. What can I get you?”
“Hmmm,” I hummed as I perused the bakery case. “It all looks delicious.”
“Because it is.” Trudy winked when my eyes caught hers. She was older, maybe in her seventies. She had a warm smile. A genuine smile. A grandma smile. It shone through her eyes, like a beacon calling you home.
“How about a bear claw and a coffee?”
“You got it.” She rang it up and when I gave her the money, she instructed, “Have a seat and I’ll bring it out.”
She bustled around and made the coffee, setting it on the counter while she dashed through the swinging doors into the back.
I stared at the coffee, wondering if I should get up and grab it, when Trudy came bustling back with a plate.
“I warmed it up for you.” She smiled and set the plate and coffee in front of me.
She wasn’t gone long before she was sitting at the table opposite me with her own coffee and a cinnamon roll.
“You’re new in town.” It wasn’t said as a question, but it was definitely a question.
“I am. Just passing through.”
“You’re pretty young to be passing through. Where do you call home?”
I took a sip of my coffee, stalling. I wasn’t sure what the third degree was about, but I wasn’t telling this woman where I came from.
“Tennessee.”
“What brings you out here?” Trudy asked. I couldn’t help but answer. There was something about this woman that just made me open up. She reminded me a little of Val.
“Traveling the country. I took a year off college for some real-world experience,” I lied and took a bite of the bear claw. I had plenty of real-world experience. More than I should.
“That sounds like fun. How many states have you seen?” she asked, and I wondered how long she would sit here with me.
“Um, I think about half now.” The sound of motorcycles had me glancing out the window. I recognized his bike right away. The man I met on the mountain.
Well, met might not be the right word. We didn’t exchange names or even pleasantries when we spoke. It wasn’t anything like meeting Trudy.
When I looked back, Trudy was watching me.
“How old are you?”
“Why?”
“You just seem awfully young to be traveling the country alone.”
“It’s because I’m so little. I’m actually twenty-one.” Close enough anyway. I laughed at the surprise on her face. A real laugh. I never tired of seeing the look on people’s faces when I told them how old I was.
My size came in handy with what we did. Val hadn’t wanted to bring me in when she did, but she couldn’t deny I could get into places she couldn’t.
I still remembered the first time. I was only fourteen. A woman had come to Val for help. Val had a plan to meet her for lunch, but when her husband showed up, Val couldn’t get near her.
But I could.
“Excuse me,” I said, tugging on the skirt of the woman Val was supposed to meet. She didn’t know I’d followed her. But when I saw the woman with her husband, I knew Val needed help.
“Yes?” The woman and her husband looked down at me—her with a smile, and him with a scowl. Not even just a frown, an actual scowl.
“I can’t find my mom,” I said, a tear running down my cheek.
“Beat it, kid.”
“Cletus, she’s scared.”
“Marilyn, I told you to go home.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her back from me.
“Please, mister. I just need someone to help me find her. She’s here somewhere,” I sniffled, looking up and down the street.
“It ain’t our problem, kid, beat it.”
“Cletus, stop it!” Marilyn yanked her arm out of her husband’s grasp.
When he saw people watching, he stepped up to her face and sneered, “Wait until you get home, bitch!”
He stormed off, and the fear on Marilyn’s face did me in.
“I’m sorry. I lied,” I rushed out. “My mom is over there. She’s waiting for you.” I took Marilyn’s hand and dragged her toward Val. “You don’t have to go home. Ever again.”
Val was so angry. Thankfully, Syrena and the others sided with me.
“Most people think I’m younger than I am.”
“Well, that will come in handy when you’re my age,” Trudy chuckled.
She stood from the table, gathered up our plates and her coffee, before saying with a wink, “Stop in again before you leave town.”
I nodded, and taking my coffee with me, I headed outside. Seeing his bike parked in front of the bookstore tempted me to go inside and look for him. But I resisted. Instead, I climbed on my bike and rode back to the motel.
What would I even say to him?
Remember me? The woman you called a kid.
I had been riding up the mountain every day, hoping he would be there. So far, he hadn’t. But maybe if I kept trying. Maybe I would see him again and I could talk to him.
Maybe he would talk to me and see beyond the surface.
Maybe he would see me.
Maybe he would want me.
I shook my head. That wasn’t possible.
There was a reason I did one-night stands. One and done meant they didn’t ask questions if they noticed the lines on my thighs. If they felt them at all.
Most guys didn’t take the time to feel a woman’s body. They did just enough to get you going, then pump a few times and leave you on your own.
Would he be the same way? Would it even be worth it? Most times it wasn’t.