Chapter 8 #2
But now, I couldn’t focus on his pain, I was too wrapped up in my own.
“No, you’re not. My Woodrow would never let Hell do that. He’d have convinced him to help me, not hurt me. Not like this.”
I hid the scarred side of my face behind my hands, and he stared at me without saying a word.
“You’re dead to me.”
He sucked in air, stealing all the oxygen we were meant to share from the room before he stood, eyes darting to the exit, and then he walked towards it, feet stomping towards the door that he slammed shut on his exit.
I sucked in a gulp of air, a tear slipping out to make room inside me for the tiny breath.
For a split second, I thought I’d die from the pain caused by my own words.
But as I said, I was ready.
I lay on the floor, twirling the dead curls as I stared at them, pointlessly.
And then he came for me. My reverie whispered encouragement into my ears, telling me I was beautiful, even with all my scars.
Even without my hair.
“You’re strong and special, my girl. Don’t forget that,” he said, but it was my lips moving to the sound of his words. My arms wrapped around my body, and I cuddled in on myself, playing the part of both myself and the made-up person who I’d created from a million lies.
And then I felt his kiss. His not really there kiss.
And I knew Woodrow was right to think I’d lost my fucking head, because nothing else could explain this.
Woodrow
Happy ever afters were subjective. What was a great conclusion for one person, wouldn't be for another.
That was the case with Jolie and me. . .
we couldn't both get what we wanted, because we wanted different things.
. . I wanted her forever until the end of time, and she wanted me in a grave, that she, my darling wife, wouldn't even visit.
That gut-churning reflection crossed my mind, the last carriage in line on my horror train of thought.
I walked the carpeted hallways slowly, taking my time to arrive at my hotel door with a heavy bag of food.
Room 666. The fancy numbers stood out proudly against the bright white walls.
It felt appropriate. A room for a devil. . . and that was what she saw me as.
I’d needed the hours I’d escaped this room, wandering up and down what felt like the longest and liveliest street in the world.
I needed to clear my head to stop my brain from exploding. My brain was aching. My stomach swirling from all the pills I’d taken, but Hell was still screaming inside me, clutching at my soul to drag it from its state of authority.
But the fresh air helped. The steam of Hell drifted from my mind with each step I took away from the hotel. Away from Jolie.
It was only now that I was back, close to where I last saw her, could I feel him niggling at the edge of my soul again.
Lethargy and the need to rest dragged me to the door. I tapped my keycard against the sensor and waited for the little red dots to turn green, and then I stepped inside.
The room was in darkness like I’d left it. Like I expected. Silence screamed at me as I clicked the door shut behind me.
My fingers felt for the light switch, and luminosity flooded the room.
My eyes stilled on the cage. I stepped closer for a better view. Jolie was still inside. My shock plastered itself on my face.
I figured she’d have gotten out. I pictured her screaming like a madwoman for help as she ran through one of Vegas’ most sophisticated joints completely naked, bare ass waving to anyone that looked its way. But she hadn’t.
She was cuddled into a tiny fetal position. I couldn’t tell from here if she was awake or asleep, but she was tired. The deep shade resting beneath her eyes proved that.
I pulled my eyes away, irritated by the image of her spine threatening to break her skin and her shoulder blades promising to vandalize her next.
Disgust curled my lips into what I could only assume to be an ugly snarl.
I placed the bag of food onto the bed. I sat down and opened out the contents.
The cage jingled, movement shaking its noisy walls.
The smell of Chinese dishes filled the air and hypnotized my senses into feeling hungrier than I was.
I had no idea what the meal was, even as I released the lid from the carton, but it looked good, smelt delicious, and the chef confirmed it was animal friendly, meaning, none of their remains was floating around in what was going to be my supper.
I tore open a paper bag. A giant bao rolled from its packaging—another thing desperately trying to escape me.
I dropped it back onto the paper with all its overstuffed siblings. I moved back to the larger bag that housed tonight’s banquet, and pulled out the only thing still inside. Cutlery.
My ears pricked, listening to the sound of a deep inhale.
The entrancing scent of supper had slipped past me and through the bars of the cage.
I ignored her for a moment, unable to face her as I continued to open out multiple cartons of food. Chow Mein. Veggies in hot garlic sauce. Disanxian.
The aroma of them all made love in the air, along with what I’d chosen to devour first—hot and sour soup—I think that was what it was. Sipping from a spoon at my lips, that was exactly how it tasted.
“Don't look at me like that.” I placed my spoon in the carton, and I twisted to glance at Jolie, focusing on the bars her fingers held.
“Don’t look at me like you’re hoping I’ll choke. You know it’s a real possibility, and even if you are secretly wishing for my death, you’re not cruel enough for choking to be your chosen method.”
“It’s no secret,” was all she said.
“Your fight isn’t with me. You know that. You know how I feel about you. That I hate that he had to come back, in order for me to get you back.”
She looked away, her eyes rolling into the back of her head to see her brain, no doubt giving her more instructions on how to brutalize me without so much as even touching me.
“He’d been gone for a while, you know. Things were controlled. I thought it would be simple. Easy to get things back in sync, so I stopped the medication. I just wanted you back. You were with worse people. Better the devil you know, right?”
She huffed, in total disagreement.
“Please don’t be mad. I know he’s hurt you. I know you’re upset, but work with me, and we can fix this.”
“How! How can we fix this?” she demanded, her eyes back on me even as her face remained turned.
“You told me once that I was worth fighting for.”
“I was wrong!”
“I know you’re disappointed in me, and I understand why. . . but only he could get you out of that place. I couldn’t. Be mad, but don’t hate me for sending him to save you. Not when my intentions were good. And don’t look at me like you're disappointed that I won't share this with you.”
I could tell by the pitiful look on her exposed face—a face slanted away from my view, in order to hide her biggest insecurity.
She wanted to tell me I had enough for two.
. . but I already knew that, and long gone were the days she’d beg for food, even if the banquet laid out on the bed did smell incredible.
She had no interest in accepting my olive branch, so I opted for a slightly different approach.
“You can't be hungry anyway, can you? Not after the giant bite you took out of my shaft in the shower earlier this morning.”
I’d seen the blood that had stained numerous tissues and two pairs of boxer shorts. I’d seen the teeth marks, and I recognized them from the smile constantly attached to all my favorite memories.
“Fuck you.”
I laughed at her blatant refusal of taking the high road.
I had every intention of sharing the food, and no intention of fucking her off further.
. . but I needed this out. I wasn’t present for the bite, but I could still feel the lingering pain.
“Tell me, did the blood taste nice as it rushed from my injury?” Sarcasm lingered on my tongue, the taste overriding the amazing soup that I’d immediately need another spoonful of.
“I thought that was Hell,” she sneered.
I didn’t want to continue being a jerk, not when I could be civil, for however long it lasted. . . but she had no interest in playing nice with me. I’d already tried that approach. . . and she’d already thrown it in my face.
She set the rules.
I followed them.
She sneered at me again, “And in regards to your earlier question, you wish giant was a word that could be accurately used in a sentence about your dick.”
Then she forced her lips to close, pulling them inside her mouth, giving them a warning from within to shut the hell up.
She didn't want me to prove to her just how big I could feel inside her. Old internal injuries were already sending phantom pains to her sensors, causing her to twitch because while giant wasn't a word to describe what hung between my legs, neither was small. . . or even average.
I ignored all her digs, laughing at her pathetic untrue jibe before finally choosing to be the bigger person.
“I actually got these for you. . . I didn’t think you’d be here, but as you know, I live with hope.
” I pushed the bag of baos closer to the cage, allowing her a look at what was on offer, if she could control her emotions.
The sheets rumpled beneath my touch, showing her that the bed was also on offer.
“How could I not be here?”
“Stranger things have happened.” I let a smile creep onto my lips.
“I knew you were hungry, so I figured, if you were still here, you’d want to eat.
” I teased, pushing forward the most delicious-looking French fries in the world.
Yellow and crispy and plentiful. They weren’t part of the Chinese menu, just something I saw on the way back here. Something, I remembered she liked.
And I liked how it fucking looked whenever she coyly chewed them at the side of her lips.
Her stomach rumbled as she vaguely remembered liking them, too.
“You don't want them?” I taunted some more. “All I want from you in return is an apology. And all this food, it’s yours.”
“An apology?” Her fingers squeezed the bars.