15. There’s No Home For You Here
FIFTEEN
THERE’S NO HOME FOR YOU HERE
MILA
Clutching the scalpel in my hand, we exit the procedure room, leaving the doctor clinging to life, bleeding, and probably cognitively impaired.
I don’t know what the ramifications of brain exposure are, nor do I care to find out.
It is madness in the ward—a dead security guard by the front door, his face bashed to pieces, and all the glass surrounding it is completely shattered.
Demetri was right. We don’t have much time left, and soon, the cops will be here, their focus on rounding up any escaped patients.
Lucky for us, we’ve already been declared dead.
I stare down the long corridor to see Helana standing, eyes wide, in the middle of the hall.
She holds her pillow in her hands like she’s made the trek from our room to check the commotion, donning the matching sweatsuit that resembles what every other patient in here wears.
Her hair is braided in the single Frenchie I gave her earlier in the day before lights out, and in her eyes, I see the fear she tries to hide.
The fear she tries to escape by coming here.
I am exactly like the monsters residing in Helana’s mind—in fact, I might be worse.
I am real.
They are not.
People like Helana, they get a bad rep. They get labeled violent, get put into cycles of trauma they can’t escape from unscathed. They’re rebranded as the villains in everyone else’s story.
I rightfully deserve the look she gives me.
It doesn’t hurt any less, and it takes me right back to Naya, standing at the end of that dark hallway in the prison, begging me to let her go, to let her live.
Once again, I will fail.
This time, though, there will be no regrets.
I push past the chronic pacers, the ones who just roam the hall aimlessly as if it’ll fix their inner turmoil. Helana takes a few steps back, head turning to check her surroundings, as if the realization is sinking in.
She’s cornered.
“Mila?” she calls to me, as if still holding out for some sort of hope I’m not the cause of all this wreckage around her safe space.
Curling my lip into a smile, I tilt my head at her. “Helana.”
“W-what’s going on? What’s happening?” She clutches her pillow to her chest, the perfect painting of innocence.
I will tarnish her, just as I’ve done to all who have crossed my path.
“They’re scared!” I shout over the noise, taking my time as I get closer. “All the staff is dead.”
My calm frightens her. She’s never seen this side of me.
Lucid, aware, and more in control than ever before.
The right version of me.
The dangerous one.
I hum, toeing careful steps, hopping over any cracks on the polished concrete floor until I’m so close to her, I feel like a lion at the watering hole. It isn’t even fair.
My little gazelle takes off running. It’s no use.
I’m on her heels, chasing her with the scalpel raised like a slasher movie villain.
Helana pushes the large wooden doors open into the small chapel as if God will save her.
Rookie mistake on her part to corner herself—I’m her God now, and I do not offer mercy.
I don’t bother running or picking up the pace.
I take my time, throwing the door open with far more force than necessary.
Not that she needs it. Helana is shaking like a goddamn Etch-A-Sketch fighting to be cleared. Except the look doesn’t leave her face, and she can’t erase me from existence. “Come on, roomie,” I chirp. “Let’s play.”
She keeps backing away. Every step I move toward her with the scalpel raised in my hand, she takes two in reverse until her legs hit the back of a pew and she stumbles. I use the opportunity to pounce, climbing on top of her, pinning her arms beneath my knees.
“Camila, stop!” she begs, her eyes all watery and full of innocence.
“Stop?” I ask, confused. “I haven’t even started yet.” I grin, pressing the edge of the blade to her cheek and drawing a small pebble of blood.
“P-please, Mila.” A little bubble of snot inflates at the edge of her nostril.
“It’s not fair, you know? I step in here once, and I’m flagged for desecration. You come here for a vacation every time you don’t feel good, and the doctor just…helps you?” I sneer at the thought, angry and jealous.
But at least her perfect skin isn’t so perfect anymore.
I slash against her face once, twice, until she’s painted perfectly, thin stripes of blood decorating her cheeks.
“I-I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” she assures me like it’s going to save her.
My nose wrinkles involuntarily. “Of course you don’t. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
Helana trembles beneath me, no longer trying to push me off her, instead just giving into defeat.
“There you are, beautiful.” Demetri’s voice filters into the room.
“It’s time to go. Everything’s ready,” he announces, walking into the flameless candlelit chapel, no hint of light filtering through the glass-stained windows that look out to nothing.
There’s walls surrounding the outside of the little church, almost as if it was a stage set.
He’s carrying with him the bag he brought in for me with some of my favorite hoodies and items from home.
They were meant to make me feel comfortable in here—a laughable thought, really, but his intentions are always superior. “Are you good?”
I turn my head back to him. “Mhm. Just tying up some loose ends.”
“Help me! She’s crazy!” Helana sobs, her tears mixing with the little cuts on her face and turning pink as they roll down her cheeks.
I gasp, feigning offense. “You said we’re not supposed to use that word, you lying little bitch!”
I cut again, and with every slash, her face morphs into my former best friend’s. “Don’t do this, Mila. Please don’t hurt me.”
“What do you need?” Demetri asks, dropping the bag beside him and shutting the door.
“Help me!” she begs him, eyes wide and full of desperation.
“He’s talking to me, sweetheart. That’s my man.” I chuckle. “Or wait, are you still trying to ‘bounce on it a little bit?’” My grin is malicious, full of hatred, spite, and all the things I keep bottled up, ready to release in moments like this.
It’s a skill; it can’t be harvested or lent out. It’s simply a superpower.
Some are born with it, some are not.
“W-what?” she stutters, unable to connect our previous conversations to this moment.
“You said you wanted to fuck my man the other night in the common room. Don’t you remember?” I suck at my teeth, waiting for her response, any humored expression fully wiped from my face.
“N-no, no. I didn’t mean it.” She tries to push me away, but the way I’m straddling her, I’m able to keep one of her arms pinned down. It’s nearly impossible for her to do anything. “I didn’t mean it, Camila. Please!”
I sigh, shaking my head. “I can’t let you go, Helana.”
“Y-you can’t?” She’s so meek and small, I almost pity her.
“It’s bad for character development. The scene is set, I’m already committed. What would the readers even say?” I turn back again to address my beloved. “What do you think? Should we keep her?”
He shrugs. “Is she useful?”
I look down at my roommate again. “Are you useful, Helana?”
She nods viciously. “I can be useful. What do you need?”
“Fuck him.” I use my head to gesture toward Demetri.
“What?” they both ask in unison, Harkins sounding a little more surprised than her.
“I’ll let you go…” I prolong the vowel, taking an extra second to think about it, “if you can blow him and let him jizz all over your pretty little face,” I suggest, knowing it’s her death sentence.
He’s already come twice for me tonight; a third is likely pushing it. This is normally when he’s already resigned to serving toe curling climaxes because his man-gasms take longer to reach.
I get up, and Helana scurries out from underneath me, making a break for the door, but Demetri is quicker, gripping her hair and yanking her back to the floor in a single motion. His face is expressionless; he holds no pity for her because he already sees her as my next victim.
“On your knees, gorgeous.” I give her a smile, walking behind my man and wrapping my arms around his waist.
I take in a drag of his scent, making the gesture exaggerated and overly dramatized. “God, you smell so fucking good.” My gaze shifts up to where a small smile forms behind the mask. I graze my tongue over the edges of my canines suggestively. “I’m gonna eat you up when we’re done with her.”
He grunts. “We really do need to leave, Darkling.”
I frown. “Fine. Party-pooper.” I redirect my attention to Helana still splattered on the ground, her hair wrapped around Demetri’s left wrist. “Blow him or die. Your choice.”
Helana comes up on her knees, her hands shaking miserably as she slides her fingers under his waistband. She struggles to pull his pants down, and Demetri just stands there awkwardly, eyes gazing to one of the windows like he’s not loving this.
I do the work, grabbing at his hips and pulling the fabric down, exposing his marvelous cock.
Her eyes go wide, fully loaded with fear.
“Please, Mila. I don’t want to.” She’s trembling.
I put on an innocent tone, as if I don’t get her sudden apprehension. “You wanted him before, so what’s different now?”
“I’m scared, Camila. Please let me go.” She speaks to me, but her head turns in search of Demetri.
I throw my head back in voracious laughter.
It feels good, finding joy in something after what felt like a sickness drying up all the fun inside me.
“What’s the matter, roomie? Suddenly, Dr. Bitey isn’t good enough for you?
” I grab her chin with my fingers, forcing her face back to me.
“Tell me, was it the mask you liked, or did you just realize you can’t actually handle him? ” I cackle. “He’s fucking huge, right?”
She’s trying to slide out from under me, shaking her head continuously. “I-I just want to go home.”
My laughter sobers. “Well, he’s not into you. Sorry, your time is up, dear.” I grip the handle of the scalpel, but she blocks me with her hand, the blade slicing her palm open and bleeding freely.