CHAPTER FIVE
Ronan
“He knew he could break her without trying.”
Her eyes shake in her skull, the pupils dilated and glossed over. She grips the table unbearingly tight, her knuckles whitening. She’s having a panic attack but trying so hard to keep it together in front of me.
I want to go over and tell her everything would be fine but that would be a lie. I don’t know how I’ll act once the lights go out. I don’t know what Hallow’s Inn has in store for us this year. Last year was nowhere near as corrupt, they know much more about us.
I don’t answer her question because I know it'll only reveal an even scarier reality for her. That she’s trapped in a room with a lunatic and there is absolutely no way out.
She walks up to me and snatches my mask off. Her bravery surprises me but I look up at her as she throws it away from me and onto the floor.
“Tell me Ronan, are you a murderer?” She sneers my name like it’s the culprit, like I disgust her.
I grab her arm and pull her to me, leveling my face with hers I whisper.
“I am, but don’t look at me like you know me, like you know the reasons behind what I did.
” I push her back and she stumbles before catching herself.
Her wide eyes meet mine as she cowers away from me.
If she would’ve fallen and hit her head, I would’ve watched the blood drain out of her fucking skull with a smile.
She’s just a spoiled fucking brat who has never experienced harships.
She doesn’t know what it's like to be beaten and abused by your own mother.
To lose your virginity to a woman who's supposed to be there for you.
My father was a coward. He watched her do unspeakable things to me and did nothing to help.
Not even when she was disposed of and put six feet under.
“Watch your fucking mouth.” I sneer and pick my mask up off the ground. I place it back over my head. It’s the perfect way to keep my emotions hidden, a safe space.
She runs over to the door where we entered from. Her small fists hit the metal door in quick motions.
“Please, anyone! Let me out.” She yells.
“They’re not coming.” I state but she ignores me and continues beating the doors.
Her distress is obvious across her features. I let her panic, let her beat on the door for over an hour. Whatever she needs to do to calm down.
She finally sinks down to her knees. Her knuckles are raw and bleeding. Her eyes and cheeks are swollen from crying and small hiccups leave her raw throat. After a few minutes, I can hear soft snores coming from her. I walk over to her and carry her over to the bed.
The floor is too wet to sleep on, she would end up sick. I tuck her in and push her curly strands behind her ear.
I hate that I yelled at her but she can’t judge people based on things they did in the past. I understand what I did was wrong, scary to most but that was 17 years ago.
It pisses me off because for some reason when she looks at me like that, it hurts.
My chest aches when those fearful blue eyes meet mine, like I’m an absolute monster.
I don’t want her to be afraid of me, not in that way.
I look around the room, hoping to find the ‘item’ I had used to kill my mother. I remember it vaguely, it’s a very distant memory. One I had buried beneath the hate and accepted.
I begin digging through all the different cabinets on the desks and then through the pile of shit on the floors. It would be impossibly hard to remember such a fucking disaster.
I sit back in the chair when I come up empty handed. I need to go through the memories from the beginning. I close my eyes and force myself to remember.
Book made for edfloresauthor@