CHAPTER FOUR
Vero
Most people don’t think of paper as a weapon; they think of knives and guns and all the obvious things. I would never have thought about it either if I hadn’t met my paper-cut princess. Yet every single person in the world has had a paper cut and knows they hurt like a bitch.
I have lost count of the number of paper cuts we are at, but I know how many pieces of paper I have used, and that is a smaller number.
“Forty-seven. It isn’t as many as I thought we would be up to by now.
Sixty would be better. I had a system, but it turns out that the human body is not a very cooperative test subject when it comes to paper.
Which is ironic because paper is made from trees and we are also technically .
. .” I stop because I can’t remember where I was going with that. “Forty-eight.”
Luca makes a muffled sound. He hasn’t said much, but when he does, I cut him some more.
The problem with all this is that I keep giving myself paper cuts too.
He makes another sound, which I find less interesting than his words, though his current situation limits his options.
He is zip-tied to a chair in the corner of Cipher’s shed.
It’s not the type of chair made to tie someone to, and I need to compliment Cipher on his chairs later.
I glance over at Cipher, where he stands at his workbench with his back to us, fixing an old radio. I don’t know why we aren’t friends. He hasn’t asked why I am here or why there is a man zip-tied in his shed; he simply moved his tools out of the way so we had room.
Cave sits in the corner, and I try not to look at him too much. He still scares the life out of me, but his attention has mainly been fixed on Cipher. If I pretend he doesn’t exist, I can keep my mind on my task at hand.
“Shit,” I say, dropping the sheet of paper into a pool of blood.
I may have stabbed him at one stage with a screwdriver because the paper cuts were not producing enough blood. I grab another piece of paper and hold it up with a grin. “Forty-nine. The inside of the wrist is very productive—seems to hurt a lot. I should write this down, Cipher . . .”
“Drawer on the left,” he answers without turning around.
“Brilliant, thank you.”
I find a pen and paper waiting, causing me to laugh. “I’m writing this on paper.” I look at Aaron. “It’s called irony, or maybe poetic justice, possibly both. I will ask Ares. He’s smart.”
Aaron says something, but I don’t catch it. I regret slicing his mouth stitches open because he still rarely speaks. I wanted to hear screams when I stabbed him with the screwdriver—that’s why I cut them open, and it was music to my ears.
“Sorry, what? You’re going to have to speak up.”
“She doesn’t care about you,” he says, his voice rough.
I may need to waterboard him soon, so he doesn’t die of dehydration.
That would be a shame after all this effort to show my paper-cut princess that a man can die from her namesake.
Even if it is proving difficult and time-consuming.
He filled me in on their history when I sliced his mouth open, and the picture he paints of her is warped.
My paper-cut princess is none of the things he said.
“She was using you. She uses everyone; she always has. She will move on and won’t think about—”
“Hmm,” I cut him off, but he continues on, talking about her as if she were a possession he owns that someone stole from him.
He tries to convince me that Kayla is manipulative, but my mind wanders to when she taught me how to crochet—or tried to.
Not sure how she could manipulate me in that moment.
He says she runs from things, but she ran back to me, so again, not a good example.
“She loved me once as well.” I go still at his words. “She said it and meant it. Whatever she has told you.”
I slash the paper across his face and tilt my head, watching as the little beads of blood bubble on his skin while he hisses.
“She did love you,” I say, taking a seat on the chair opposite him.
“I believe that. She would not have stayed as long as she did if she didn’t—she isn’t one to say something she doesn’t mean.
But here’s the thing,” I say, picking up a bottle of homemade vodka.
“I know a lot about love. I have been in love my entire life with various things, including but not limited to: sugar, and a certain marker pen—it just glides across the page, and it was my favorite when I was a kid. But love doesn’t make someone yours.
It’s not ownership, and it doesn’t mean when they leave it’s wrong—I just learned that one.
You probably think you loved her too. That’s the part I believe the least, but I’m going to give it to you, and look at what you did with it. ”
He says nothing as I lean forward.
“The forearm, good surface area,” I quip.
“You think she is going to stay with you,” he says in a calm voice. “You know what you are and what happens when—”
“I do know what I am. I have a very detailed understanding and lots of time to think about it—more time than most people.” I look at him and smirk. “She also knows, and still she chooses to stay. Does it hurt knowing that she loves who I am, but she ran away from you?”
I slash the paper across his arm again, and he doesn’t react. “You put her in a fucking box in the ground, and she still made it out. So if I were you, I wouldn’t be talking about what she will or won’t do. Because you clearly don’t know her as well as you think you do.”
I laugh when his face drops. He didn’t know Kayla made it out alive, and the look on his face is so worth it. She is alive, but he won’t be by the time I’m done with him. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, his mask is back in place.
I work in silence for a few minutes, slicing more lines up his arm. I ran out of room on his other one. Thankfully, the human body has a lot of surface area.
“You said you didn’t want him to die of an infection,” Cipher mentions from the workbench.
I look at him, then back to Luca’s hands, which look a little gross. I started there after I gave myself a paper cut.
“Do you have more isopropyl?”
“Cabinet above the sink.”
I find the bottle and come back, crouching down in front of Luca. His eyes drop to the bottle and then flick up to me. His hands have been my favorite part. He likes to make noise when I cut them, and it makes me happy to hear him scream.
“I’m not a monster, but I want this to take a long time. An infection would be counterproductive and so unfair,” I tell him.
Then I pour the isopropyl, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction of making any noise this time, which annoys me.
I put the cap back on and set it down on the floor.
I stand up and stretch, then glance over to where Cave, the freaky fucker, is sitting in the corner, and this time he is staring back at me.
“He told me she uses people,” I say, and he remains silent. “Can you believe that?”
He tilts his head, so I at least know he understands what I’m saying.
“I think he’s wrong, but I also think he believes it, which is really interesting. Seems he has built that version of her in his head to justify his own behavior. Probably made him sleep better at night.”
I pick up another piece of paper—every time I run out, a new piece magically appears—and this time I move to his knee, wondering if it will hurt more or less.
He grunts as I slice him, which I have down to an art now.
I am super good at giving paper cuts, and I can’t wait to tell her that I am good at something.
Crocheting is stupid, though my noose would come in handy right now.
Cipher makes a sound of satisfaction, and I hear the radio crackle to life in a burst of static, then nothing.
A second later it crackles again, and he stops adjusting it.
“She screamed for me,” Luca says. I pause and spin around to face him. “The first time, she was loud about it. She isn’t shy—you would know that.”
I move my arm and slash the paper across his neck.
The asshole hisses and then laughs. “She used to beg me for it.”
My hands move faster, back and forth, not even worrying if I hit the same place twice anymore.
“She has a scar inside her left hip. Do you want to know what she did to deserve that?”
In my periphery, Cipher has placed his screwdriver down, so I move to the workbench and pick it up.
I move it around in my hand, spinning it.
The screwdriver has the same thought as my hand, and my brain is just along for the ride.
It plunges into his shoulder, and the sound he makes is the best since we have been here—even the last time he didn’t sing this sweet.
“Hey,” Cipher grumbles from the workbench, turning around this time. “I was using that.”
“Sorry.” I pull it out and hold it out to him, handle first.
He takes it and looks at the blood, then sets it back on his bench as he turns around.
I glance at Luca. His face is scrunched up, and it’s awfully satisfying. His shoulder is bleeding, but luckily for me it isn’t fatal—at least not yet, because I’m not done with him. I circle him, placing a hand on his shoulder and digging my finger into the wound.
“Fuck you,” he seethes.
“I wouldn’t advise that. My boyfriend would kill you, and he would make it a lot more painful.
The bone breaking would be satisfying for me, though.
” I rip my finger from the hole and more blood flows out.
I may need to stitch that one. “She never mentioned you to me. I know about her other ex-boyfriend—she talked about him, but I guess you didn’t leave that big of an impact.
But by all means, keep talking. I find it very motivating. ”
He says nothing, just breathes through the pain. I can tell because I have been hurt so many times, and all you can do is breathe through it when it’s bad.
“Cipher.”
“Isopropyl is . . .”
“I still have some. I wanted to see if you had some gauze or something because this one is deeper and I don’t want him to die just yet. Wrong tool and all.”
“Second drawer.”
“You are a very practical person. I like that about you,” I tell him with a grin.
I get the gauze and come back, pressing it to his shoulder. Luca makes another noise and thrashes a little. “Stop it, I’m trying to help you,” I tell him, and slap him on the back of the head.
I’m a little manic. I don’t usually feel this mid-episode, but I can this time, stuck somewhere in between.
This is a first for me. My hands move faster than I can keep up with, and my brain is racing, but it’s worse when I feel detached from myself.
Everything is getting louder, and Cipher’s radio keeps distracting me. Maybe I should eat.
“Do you have any nuggets?” I ask Cipher.
He turns around and looks at me as if he can’t decide if I am being serious. “I don’t, but I can go get food for everyone.”
I ponder this for a second. “Can you get nuggets, though?”
He nods slowly.
“Oh, and something with sugar in it,” I add.
“Sure.”
“And maybe . . .” I stop because Luca makes a sound. “Hold on, he’s trying to say something.”
But when he says nothing more, I shrug. “Okay, yes. Food, please. I think we need to eat. My brain feels like it has been running a marathon, and I read somewhere that if you are running a marathon, you need to fuel your body. Maybe Brawley told me that—he’s good at looking after himself.
Did you know he . . .” I trail off again, losing my train of thought. “Nuggets, please.”
Cipher nods and picks up his jacket from the back of his chair and pulls it on. Little trinkets are attached, making small tinkling sounds, but I can’t make out what they are—maybe miniature tools. He looks at Cave on his way out, and I know that look, but Cipher leaves before I can question him.
“Do you have a thing for him?” I ask Cave, but of course he says nothing. “You do. I like him.”
Cave growls, and a shiver runs down my spine. I remember again that I’m scared of him. “Calm down, big guy. I don’t like him like that—he is all yours. Brawley wouldn’t like it if I brought home a guy anyway.”
I sit down across from Luca, and he watches me carefully as I pick up another piece of paper. “Now, where were we?”