Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
RUIN
My eyes open.
My wrists are chained above my head. My arms stretch until my shoulders turn numb, my body hanging just low enough that my toes barely brush the floor. The chains creak when I shift, and I can’t see anything.
There is a faint light above me, not enough to show walls or corners, only a dull glow that leaves everything else swallowed by darkness. The last thing I remember is racing and losing.
Brilliant idea, 1loca, I tell myself.
I lift my head.
Two white shapes, in the form of an X, float in the dark. Two glowing eyes are watching me.
I squint. My body moves, chains rattling as I try to pull free, but only the metal bites into my wrists.
He moves.
I hear him before I see him, his slow steps circling me. He is holding a knife, twisting it in his hands. He walks around me like I am something caught in a trap, like I walked straight into his hands.
The tip of the blade brushes my ribs. I flinch, breath hitching in my throat.
I’m still wearing the red dress Ella borrowed for me so we could match the costumes of two little Red Riding Hoods for the night. I never thought I would get caught by the big bad wolf. Ever since Judas died, we have been close. Turns out she was not that bad. She just wanted his attention.
“Fuck off, you psycho,” I snap, shaking as I kick at him. My foot slices through empty air. “You might have won, but you can’t keep me here forever.”
He laughs.
He grabs my chains and spins me to face him. The LED Xs of the glowing mask are burning into my eyes.
His fingers drag down my throat, then slide over my breasts. He lifts the dress a little and slices through it. Just enough so he can rip it apart and let the pieces fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but red lace.
He grips my chin and yanks my face toward the mask.
“Is that what you do?” I laugh and spit on the glowing plastic. “Hide behind masks because you are too fucking ugly to show your real face.”
I drove my knee into his gut.
He barely moves.
“What are you afraid of?” I snarl. “That I will laugh when I see you?”
I try again, but he grabs me and spins me around so my back faces him. The knife slides down, then cuts. My thong falls away.
“If you want to kill me, then kill me,” I shout, twisting in the chains.
His hand cracks against my ass. I can feel the heat across my skin.
I gasp.
“Psycho,” I spit.
He hits me again.
“Shut. Up,” he says with his broken voice, right in my ear as he turns me back to face him.
“You will never shut me up.” I spit on his mask again.
He wipes it away. I see his chest rising and falling now.
I’m getting to him. I can feel it.
He turns to me once more, pressing close. The knife traces up my inner thigh, then slides across my right cheek. His hand comes down again.
“Mine,” he growls.
“I will never be yours,” I grind out through my teeth.
The blade presses into my skin. He draws the first curve, then a line. Another circle. A slash from the top down. I hiss and move, but he holds me still, pressing deeper on the last letter.
I don’t need to see it to know what’s written across my ass cheek.
“Chaos,” he murmurs.
He straightens, his hand sliding over my bloody skin, smearing it upward. He spins me to face him and drags the red across my lips.
“Mine,” he says again, pulling me closer.
He presses the mask to my face and kisses me through cold plastic.
A tear slips down my cheek. Not just because he carved his name into my skin, but because the sting reminds me of everything I did to myself, every damn day for the last two years.
“Mine,” he says again, stepping back.
This time, I have no words left. I just stand there, chained, staring at him through blurred vision.
The day I lost Judas, I cut the hair tie from my wrist. I knew I wouldn’t be able to distract myself with it anymore, so I punished myself instead. Over and over. I never blamed him. I blamed myself. I told myself I wasn’t enough.
It is easier to tear myself apart than to tear him down.
And even now, I still hope he will save me.
“If my brother were alive, he would skin you for what you did to me,” I shout.
He laughs. Tilts his head from side to side, studying me.
Then he nods.
“I hope you never release me,” I spit. “Because if you do, I will bury you so deep no one will ever find you. I will put a dead rat on top, so they think it is just an animal rotting in the ground.”
I rattle the chains at him.
He laughs louder. “You…” He steps closer. “Are f-f-funny.”
I swing at him. He moves. My fist cuts through the air.
He circles me, then shoves me. My body swings, my arms stretch further, and pain ripples through my shoulders.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, every muscle screaming.
He stops me mid-sway and leans in. He lifts the mask just enough to drag his tongue across the blood on my face. Then he pulls away again.
“Freak,” I spit.
He grabs me, yanking me close. When I try to hit him, he catches my wrist and pins my hand to his hip. His gaze drags over my body. He presses against me. I feel his cock getting hard through the black sweatpants, every inch of him pushing against me.
“If I fuck you, will you let me go?” I ask.
My last card. My last lie. The second he agrees, I will stab him.
He nods.
Then he laughs and steps back.
Instead of coming closer, he turns away.
“No. Fuck, no. Come back,” I shout. “Fuck.” The word tears out of my chest.
I can hear his footsteps fade, and the door opens, then closes.
I’m left hanging there, like a piece of meat, while my blood drips to the floor.
The room feels like it’s tilting. Darkness begins to seep in from the edges of my vision, and my eyes start to close.
I find myself lying in bed. For a moment, I simply stare at the pale ceiling before my body suddenly wakes up. I swing my legs over the edge and stand, feeling my knees wobble as I step away from the mattress.
There are no windows, only one door. Despite this, I walk toward it.
I reach for the handle and twist, but it’s locked.
“Fuck.”
My body still hurts, and I can feel every single bruise on my skin.
I look down. I am wearing a black T-shirt.
I turn in a slow circle, trying to make sense of the room.
The walls are a pale white, recently painted. The dark wooden floor is partly covered by a green carpet under the bed. The bed is made of wood, neatly covered with pale sheets. And there are no pictures, no frames, no signs of anyone ever living here.
Just me, locked inside four blank walls.
I can hear footsteps again.
My heart slams into my ribs. I rush back to the bed and drop onto it, pulling my body still, and I close my eyes, pretending I am fast asleep.
The door opens.
I hear him walk in. I squint one eye just to see him set a plate on a nightstand, and I wait until his back turns, then I launch myself at him.
He shoves me back, and I crash onto the bed. His LED mask, the glowing Xs staring down at me.
He pins my wrists above my head, his weight crushing the air from my lungs.
“Let. Me. Go,” I say, every word shaking.
I twist, fight, force my knee up between his legs, and drive it into him as hard as I can.
He groans and falls back onto the mattress.
I run.
I tear through the door. He left it unlocked.
I sprint down the hallway, my feet slapping against the floor, my breath ripping in and out of my chest. I reach the front door and grab the handle.
But the door is locked.
I wrench at it. Again. And again.
“Run.”
I turn.
He stands in a doorway behind me.
“Run.”
The LED mask flickers. The light cuts out, then blazes back on as he steps forward.
Fuck.
I glance to the left and right. But there’s nothing but empty space and blank walls. The only way is to run up.
I take two stairs at a time, my legs burning, my heart pounding in my ears. I hear the sound of his boots behind me.
“Fuck. Off,” I shout, trying every door on the upper floor. Each one is locked. Every single one.
His laugh fills the hallway.
He is closer now.
I move toward him, planning to slip past, to move back down the stairs.
I almost made it.
But his hand clamps around my throat.
He lifts me off the floor and slams me against the wall. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp burst of pain.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” he says, shaking his head.
I twist. My free hand shoots up, and my fingers dig into the holes of the mask, into where his eyes should be.
He hisses and stumbles back.
The knife clatters to the floor.
I shove him down and grab the blade. The mask slips from his face as he looks up at me.
Two eyes lock onto mine.
I know those eyes.
“Judas?” I whisper.
He looks at me, his jaw clenched, as I fall forward and land on top of him, the knife still clutched in my hand.
“Judas,” I say again, like I need to hear it out loud, like saying his name will stop me from driving the blade into the man beneath me.
He moves fast. He lifts me, slams me down onto the floor, and the knife skids from my fingers. My breath knocks out of my chest. He stares at me, eyes locked on mine, his knee sliding between my legs, forcing them apart.
“Am I dreaming?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
He leans down and presses his mouth to mine.
My eyes fall shut on instinct because this is what he always does to me. He is like a drug. He is the thing I fixate on, the thing I crave the most. Every feeling crashes back at once because for two fucking years, I have been missing him. Missing him too much.
His tongue tangles with mine. I can’t breathe. He steals the air from my lungs. My palm presses to his chest, pushing his shirt up and off, my lips brushing his skin as I whisper, “Don’t you dare stop.”
He nods and starts pulling the shirt over his head. While the fabric still traps his arms, I trace my hand down his muscles, my fingers moving slowly, searching for proof that he’s real.
He finally yanks the shirt free. His black hair falls into his forehead as his eyes lock onto mine.
“I-I… M-m-missed you,” he says.
I swallow hard.
Everything rushes back at once.