Epilogue
RUIN
Two months after
Icurl against the thin mattress on the floor. I can feel the cold running through my ribs, through my hip, and all the way towards every single place that still hurts. The room has no windows. And there is no way I can tell what time of the day it is. Day and night here simply never exist.
Ever since they took me, they just moved me around like I am their property.
For two months, the President has been telling me the same story. He sits in his chair and rolls the words around in his mouth about how he loved my mother. How he was supposed to take her away from Justin, how he knew Sofia was on the way when Justin stole her from him.
Fucking idiot.
My mother didn't want him. She had no spine. She said one thing and did another, and she stopped at nothing if it meant her ass being first. And if he thinks I will give him my sister, he is wrong. He will never know where Sofia is. Never.
Harper comes and goes. She is searching for answers, too. Her voice asks the same question over and over. Every time I tell her the truth, she tilts her head and calls me a liar.
They keep me here like I am nothing but a carton box on a shelf. Something to open when they want something from inside.
The President promised that if he can't have my mother, he will have me.
The thought of him turns my stomach. He disgusts me.
Footsteps slide closer down the hall. The door opens, and he comes inside. His long hair is twisted into a bun on top of his head. His shoulders bunch under his crossed arms like he is holding himself back.
“Ready to talk, Sunshine?” he says.
I'm not a Sunshine. I have been more like a storm cloud since the day I came here.
He steps in and kneels. The chain at my wrists scrapes as he pulls me forward. His face comes close. His brown eyes lock onto mine. And he waits for something to break in me.
But I don't give him that satisfaction, and I spit in his face.
He rocks back, then laughs.
“Fine,” he says, his voice dropping. “Then I will fuck it out of you.”
His hand closes around my throat. His other hand goes to his jeans.
The word no means nothing here. It falls out of my mouth and disappears before it hits the floor.
The TV clicks on somewhere behind us. A woman’s voice cuts through as someone turns the volume up.
“Today around noon, Judas Harrington escaped from police custody. We believe he is armed and dangerous. Police ask the public to remain alert and report any sightings. He is a cold-blooded killer who will kill again if given the chance.”
A laugh tears out of my chest. My eyes move up, and I look at the President.
He turns his head toward the door and mutters, “Shit.”
My feet start tapping against the mattress. My head sways up and down as my back slams against the wall.
“One, two,” I sing. “He is coming for you.”
He yanks my chains and drags me closer. My shoulder slams into his knee.
I won't stop.
“One, two,” I whisper now. “He is going to kill you.”
His fingers dig into my cheeks, forcing my face up. I grin at him, blood already warming my mouth.
“Three, four,” I say. “Your head will hang at the front door.”
His fist comes down as he hits my face. The room flashes in front of me. My nose splits, and the taste of blood floods my tongue.
I laugh through it.
Judas is coming for me, and God help anyone who stands in his way.
The President stands and turns away.
I curl back into the mattress and start to hum. The same tune Catherine used to sing comes out of me.
“Dream a little dream of me…”
To be continued...