Forty-Three
Holy shit. What have I done?
I lie curled on the floor, left where I orgasmed. The caked mess on my face tells me I threw up a lot last night, then slept in it. That’s all I am. Vomit. Shit. A pile of disgust.
I retch, wanting to be sick again.
How could I have done that?
How could I have talked Bear through scenarios? To tell him what to imagine, then role play a minor to get him off? All to score some V...
Shit.
My hands start to shake.
I can’t do this.
The drug is a poison. I can’t take it anymore.
I won’t ask for it again.
I have to stop.
Cut myself off.
Get clean.
My soul screams at the idea of suffering through this pregnancy without any help to take away the pain. But I can’t do what I did again. Can’t reduce myself to that.
Trembling, I roll onto my hands and knees, then heave.
My stomach is empty though.
I have nothing left inside me. No food. No soul. Just an empty black hole of shame.
Fuck.
I think about all the kids I’ve saved. Think about all the ones I’ve found families for. I gave them a new identity, an investment account for when they turned eighteen – started with half of the money I was paid to kill them. I took jobs that gave me a reputation as a heartless bitch all so I could do some good as an assassin. And what have I done?
I’ve failed every single one of them.
I’m no different to the monsters I’ve tried to save them from.
I stumble to the bathroom, my hands out in front of me, wanting to get clean before Bear tries to come in and do it himself. I don’t want him touching me.
He shaved me…
Oh my gods.
All the times he’s shaved me, and I was too out of it to connect the dots.
I fall against the bathroom sink and heave again as tears run free. I want to throw up, throw out everything inside of me. To purge myself of the disease I’ve welcomed into my body. The V is no longer in my system, pulled out by magic, but its effects remain. The knowledge of all the choices I made to get high.
Trembling against the sink, my knuckles clenched tight, I still can’t help but want another dosage though. It’ll stop the pain of my thoughts. It’ll let me live with the monster I’ve become. It’ll let me hide from myself…
But I can’t.
I won’t.
I can’t.
Please don’t make me, I beg my own body.
A body that isn’t mine anymore.
I can’t.
I can’t!
Please…
Shaking with need, I force myself to turn on the tap. I splash water on my face. Scrub at the vomit, then at my top layer of skin, trying to wash it all away.
But it doesn’t stop the craving.
It doesn’t stop the burning in my veins or the knowledge that this pain can all go away, disappear, be forgotten for at least a little while if I just. Get. High.
If I just sell a little bit more of my soul.
But what part of my soul is even left?
Surely, it won’t matter if that, too, is gone?
I already can’t come back from what I’ve done. So why bother trying to resist? Why let myself keep hurting? After all, how much further can I fall?
Dropping my head under the tap, I try to rinse out my mouth and my thoughts. I spit out the water, but the bad taste, the infection in my soul remains.
I just need a little V…
No.
No!
Please don’t.
Just a little taste.
Sagging to the floor, I bawl my eyes out, hating who I’ve become. I don’t even want to be saved anymore. I don’t ever want to see Dayne or Lou again. I don’t want them to see me. I deserve to stay here. Die here. Be tortured until my final breath.
I sold my soul to V, so Hel is where I belong.
Varius, if you can feel this… Leave me to rot alone.
“Bitch, I don’t think so.”
Dayne’s voice snaps back at me, my subconscious trying to keep me alive as there’s no way for him to actually speak to me. There aren’t any telepaths on earth, and even if Varius managed to drag one through the portal, they’d have to know my mind well in order to pick me out among all the others on the planet.
“I’m busting my ass trying to get to you. You better not make me do all this for nothing.”
My sob breaks, and I press my hand across my mouth.
“Bitch, do you know how much sleep I’ve missed?”
I crumble as I think about how grumpy Dayne is in the morning. I can hear his sass so clearly. See the annoyance in his eyes.
“So get your ass up and figure your shit out so I can catch up on my Zs.”
Gods, I miss him so fucking much, but I don’t want him here. Even in my mind, it feels so wrong. Like I’m tainting all the good memories.
He didn’t sleep well when I first found him. Whatever had happened to him in that cage, he’d learned to always keep one eye open. But eventually, he started to sleep in my presence. Just naps at the start – though he’d always deny it. Then they would get longer. Deeper. Once, I made a loud noise, and he didn’t even stir.
My chest constricts with the tears I cried that day. He went through hel as just a kid. For years. And I watched him heal from it.
But he didn’t become the monster I did.
He didn’t… He didn’t do… what I did with Bear.
If he knew...
He’d want me to kill him.
Whatever happened between us after would be sorted after.
But Dayne would want him dead.
“Do it for me, princess?” he says.
I’ll do anything for you.
“Atta girl.”
With a last broken sob, I wipe my hand across my face as I take deep, shuddering breaths. My shaking starts to calm, then I push to my feet and turn towards the bathroom door. I lock it before I step into the shower.
It’s a quick scrub this time – not an attempt to cleanse my soul. I’m just removing all the vomit from my face and neck and all the cum off my thighs. I hesitate for a second, thinking about cleaning my pussy of Bear’s presence, but I don’t trust myself to stop there.
Already, my body is responding to the mere closeness of my hand. The arousal is prickling at my skin, and sharp on its heels is the urge to find Sadist so I can score some more V.
Ripping both my hands away from my body, I press them against the wall of the shower and shudder out a breath. The urge is so fucking strong. The temptation to give in. Maybe if I seek him out, I can name the terms…
Maybe the price won’t be as bad this time.
Clenching my teeth, I grope around for the tap, then turn down the heat. The sudden burst of cold water shocks me, and I breathe in raggedly as goosebumps spread across my skin.
I stand under the spray until I start to shiver. Until the urge fades enough to ignore it – just.
My pussy clenches, begging me to touch it, to experience a bit of that high just to tide me over. But I know it won’t stop there. It won’t.
And I owe it to Dayne… to all the kids to kill Bear first.
After… after, maybe…
Hating the weakness clawing so desperately at my skin, I turn off the shower and step out. Hoping there’s still a towel on the railing, I grope around for it. It’s still a bit damp from yesterday, but I pat myself down, ruffle the few inches of hair I have on my head, then wrap it around myself.
My throat closes as I realize this is the first time I have been ‘clothed’ in… I don’t know how long. I’ve lost track of the time. It feels like I’ve been captive for years, but I touch my hair and know it has only been a month, maybe two. It takes hair a year to grow six inches on average. It was just below my ears when Rafiki… when I got attacked; Sau made me grow it out once I became engaged to her son so I could look more the part of a Boss’ wife.
My heart twists with longing for my daughter.
She should be the one still in my womb.
I should be able to feel her kicking by now.
I waited so long to feel her move, and the only time…
I rip the towel off me, wishing it were my skin. Wishing I could dig into my belly just like Antonio did and tear out this unholy thing that’s now inside of me.
My hands fisting in the cotton, I hold on to that rage, on to that desperate need for violence. Then I carry the towel over to the bed, drop it on the floor, and climb onto the mattress tucking my legs beneath my ass.
The door to my room opens not much later. Footsteps creep closer as Bear says, “Morning, angel.”
There’s a lift to his tone, a hop in his step; he thinks he’s about to get his rocks off – and he will, but not in the way he wants.
Ducking my head, I shyly say, “Hello.”
Like a little girl to her teacher on her first day of school. How many children did he have access to? How many did he love? How many parents did he shake hands with and tell them their little baby was special?
I keep my head down, focusing on my breathing. He isn’t in his wolf form, so his nose isn’t as sharp, but he’ll still be able to sense the danger in the air if I think about how many ways I want to kill him.
And I need him to get closer. Need him to bring me my breakfast and the utensils that come with it. Fork or spoon, it doesn’t matter. I can kill him with either.
“I made a special breakfast for my special girl,” he says.
With my face hidden, I could pass for a preteen with my flat chest and tiny stature, but he likes them younger than that. He’s either imagining me as someone else, just like I got him to do last night, or he’s decided beggars can’t be choosers.
Either way, my stomach churns. I keep my face flat as he approaches the bed. The smell of syrup tickles my nose as he places a tray on my lap.
“It’s pancakes in the shape of a bear’s face,”
he says, like a father rewarding his little girl. “Blueberries for her eyes, and bacon for her mouth. And look at her hair. I did it just like yours with some whip cream and syrup. Do you like it, angel?”
My skin crawling, I nod. Pancakes and bacon means a butterknife and fork. Him making this, though, means he was most likely a father at some point.
I struggle to keep my face expressionless as I think about him hurting his own special girl.
“And I got you a present too.”
He sits down beside me and runs a hand across my face, pushing my wayward bangs out of my eyes. The sound of liquid shaking in a small vial has my heart jumping into my throat.
“If you’re good, I’ll let you have some.”
I turn into his touch, my body needy, my pain desperate to be quieted. “I’ll be a good girl just for you,”
I say even as my stomach churns in self-disgust. But fighting it is too damn hard when it’s right in front of me.
He removes his palm from my face. There’s the clatter of cutlery, then he’s pushing a knife and fork into my hands. “Just eat all of your breakfast, okay?”
Where did he put the vial? I need to make sure I don’t break it when I attack him.
I start to shake, start to second guess my plan.
“You can search his body after, Micha. Do this for me.”
Anything for you, Dayne.
I promised I would protect him. I promised myself I’d be someone he would be proud of – a protector of those who couldn’t protect themselves. We found a way to fight his demons together. We rose from the pain of his childhood together. I might crave the V with every part of my being, but I cannot fail him.
Not in this.
He means too much to me.
So I clutch the knife and fork in my hand and dig into my breakfast, making sure I make a mess of things. I want Bear to think I’m clumsy without my eyes. Helpless, even.
“Here, let me help you,” he says.
Shit. I’ve played it too well. “I’m a big girl,”
I say, doing my best to sound like his preferred age range.
“Of course you are,”
he says, patting my head.
I drop a bit of syrup on my chest.
“Oops, you got some on you,”
he says. “Let me get that.”
He trails his fingers across my skin, and I wonder how many times he’s perfected this. How many pretty words he gave to special girls to get them comfortable. They wouldn’t have known better. They would have just thought he was helping. They would’ve trusted him even as something in their back of their mind – a basic, instinctive fear bloomed. They would’ve trusted him. Everyone would’ve trusted him because that’s how pedophiles work. Befriend the adults. Befriend the kids. Get everyone to think they’re the good guys.
Then get them away somewhere private.
Make them believe that this is a good thing. A way to show I love you.
My skin prickling beneath his touch, I wait for him to stroke my left nipple, mapping his position in my mind. His arms are longer than mine, but his left one is twisted. He won’t be able to move it fast enough to block me.
He pinches my bud with his right hand, and I explode into action, grabbing his thumb and wrenching his arm to the side. It cracks! He screams. His body will bend at the shoulder, an instinctive reaction to stop it from breaking. But he’s too close to the edge of the bed, so he will wobble, trying to keep his balance – too inexperienced in fighting to know he should take the fall and use it to throw me off my attack.
He wobbles, and I lunge forward, pushing off my toes, my legs springing me towards his neck. I switch the way I’m holding the fork and shove it sideways into his throat, then wrench it free as fast as I can, letting the blood spurt free. The sudden drop in blood pressure will make him lose consciousness quickly. He falls off the bed. I go with him, still holding his thumb, using it as a way to see his body.
We hit the ground, and now I release his hand to cup the side of his face, mapping it. My thumb feathers his check, telling me where I need to aim, and I plunge the fork into his other eye, not wanting to risk stabbing my own hand.
His gurgle of pain cuts off. The fork doesn’t go as deep as I want it to though, so I reach behind me and search for the tray. I grab it, twist around, and hammer it onto the top of the fork, forcing it deeper into his brain, killing him quickly. Now they’ll need a necromancer to bring him back; a healer won’t do shit.
I scream as I sag forward. My shame doesn’t dissipate with his life though. His death doesn’t fix what I did. The only thing that’ll soothe that pain is the V.
No.
It’s the only thing that will make life bearable.
Don’t.
With numb arms, I search Bear’s pockets.
You promised to get clean.