Chapter 38
Karia
Ido not have time to gasp over what Cosmo has done. Not anymore.
In the darkness beneath the house, I reach one hand out and keep the other clenched tight around my gun.
Thanks to Isadora’s relentless questioning, I know vaguely where each room is above my head.
It is disorienting, being in utter darkness with only dirt beneath my feet and cement walls blocking me in, and the sound of creaks above me and what may be rats or snakes or both below me.
I do not care.
If Cosmo thought I would stay hidden and safe and small and out of the way, he no longer knows me, which I suppose is the truth after all.
The walls guide me, cold and foreboding beneath my palm.
I can only hope my sense of direction is correct, and that I am heading toward the library.
There are things I want to hear from Sanford myself that I do not trust Maude or Alivia to dictate correctly.
Then, after, the gun in my hand will be useful.
I do not let myself think of Sullen, above my head and alone with his worst nightmares. Or maybe that is me.
I smile as I think it, because the alternative will stall me. If I imagine him with Klein and his father, I will break down.
I am useless to him then.
Tonight, I will not be. I vow to myself before morning they will be dead, and Sullen will be in my arms, never to be hurt again.
The promise burns through me. So does my father crying over the phone. He thinks I will die, doesn’t he? To an outsider, it might seem strange, that he would not come rescue me if that were the case. But I hold onto it, the gift of pride, because it is the highest he could give me.
Still, maybe some small part of me wishes he would come. Wishes he would put aside the brainwashing of pride and loyalty and gifts like this one that Writhe has carved into his veins like Stein’s name on Mads Bentzen’s chest.
Thinking of it makes me want to vomit. At least Mads and Lora raised a better son.
My mind drifts to Isadora’s mother, Shella. The only one in all of Writhe who spared any kindness for Sullen. The one who let us escape.
There is still some good around me, after all, isn’t there? It is my friends who will help keep Sullen safe, and despite my rage—burning compartmentalized in the back of my mind—it is Cosmo who tried to keep me safe, too.
There is a scurrying sound at my back and I freeze, heart slamming inside my chest in the sheer darkness. I cannot even see my hand in front of my face down here.
But it must have been a rat.
I continue, refusing to think of the tunnels beneath Hotel Number Seven. How badly I want Sullen by my side, his gloved hand in my own.
How much I want to fuck him again.
His cock is so big, he fills me like no one ever has. Like no one ever will.
Shut up, Karia. I scold myself inside my own head. Now is not the time for lust.
Not yet.
Survive the night, the early morning, then we can do anything we want.
I smile as I think it.
I keep moving.
Another scurrying sound, this one accompanied by a squeak. I do not slow down and I do not let myself fear.
Because it is above me now.
The library, if my directions are correct, which they may not be at all.
But even if I’m right, I’m not entirely certain how to get up there.
Sullen mentioned many hidden passageways, but we did not have time to scope them all out.
They would not be in floor plans, and they would not have been accessible to Sullen.
But there is marginally more warmth here, below what I think is the library, and it could just be in my head, but that is how the room is inside, too.
Am I there?
I look up.
There is nothing but darkness, yet when I jump with my arm extended, my palm touches concrete.
There must be a way.
I take a breath, then close my eyes.
Think, Karia.
But all at once, it feels too much. I do not know how to get up there. I can see nothing. No one will hear me scream down here and if they did, who is to stay it won’t be someone who wants me dead?
Sullen is not with me.
Sullen is not fucking with me.
I want to shoot Cosmo.
I just fucking might.
My shoulders feel heavy. Everything feels too much. I think of Sullen holding me in the night, after.
Us, in the shower.
The way I have had of him what no one else has had. What no one else ever will. So long as I don’t fucking die down here.
I snap my eyes open at my resolve, and the sound.
Behind me.
Someone breathing.
There is someone down here.
It was human, of that much I am sure.
My heart races inside my head. Did Sullen follow me? Giddiness threatens to burst behind my ribs at the thought, but I do not trust it.
He would keep me in a jar if it meant keeping me safe.
He might have planned this with Cosmo for all I know, and I do not have time to throw a fucking fit about it right now.
Later.
Just survive.
A footstep.
I hear it, in the dirt.
But there is no light, and when I turn, so slowly, to glance over my shoulder, I see nothing, and I know they cannot see me either.
Do they know I am down here?
Who the fuck is it?
I curl my finger around the trigger of the gun, but I cannot be too hasty. If I shoot too soon, I may kill the wrong person, and if I hurt Sullen, I would never forgive myself.
My mother would be embarrassed of me now, the ways I am hesitant to act. The way I have been shoved down here at all. Winning Scarletta Ven’s approval has never happened to me, and I would keep disappointing her now.
At least I am consistent, I suppose.
But I think of my father breaking down on the phone.
I will not fucking die, even if he expects me to.
I lift the gun.
Another scuffle of feet, but this time, to my left.
I turn quick.
Another.
I shift again.
Then a match flares. I smell sulfur before I see it.
Him.
A plague mask, illuminated by a candelabra, suspended from the cement ceiling by a short chain. Only one candle lit, black like ink, already dripping down the side.
Klein straightens.
He drops the dead match, and he stares right at me.
Tall like Cosmo. Lean. All in black, including black leather gloves on his visible hand that remind me too much of Sullen.
It makes my heart ache, knowing he likely hates this parallel between them, and wondering if he learned it from him all the same.
My stomach twists.
I aim the gun at Klein’s head.
It was Sanford I wanted to question once Cosmo put me out of the way. It was answers I didn’t feel satisfied with that I wanted.
But now it is only murder I desire.
Klein’s head, blown to pieces. His eyeball, removed from the socket.
But he has one hand behind his back.
And when I flex my finger on the trigger, he removes it, and his gun is aimed at me, too. Sullen thought he would be too frightened to come down here. But I suppose bloodlust fucks us all.
I have it too, and I do not feel afraid.
Neither of us speak as we stand off alone, the dancing flame casting shadows over the smooth, hard mask. But it is better this way, the gap between this moment and his death.
I want to see his eyes drain of life when I murder him. See Sullen? We are not so different, baby boy.
A low laugh emanates from Klein’s mask.
Fuck him. “Did you get a cute little rhyming name to Stein because it was the only way you could feel good about yourself? He wouldn’t let you choke on his dick so you had to scramble for another way to feel close to him?” I take a step forward, my eyes never leaving his mask.
Sullen would scold me for being reckless, but thanks to Cosmo, Sullen is not here.
“Did you do everything he told you to, or did you keep some things to yourself, like how much of a bitch baby you are for being so fucking spineless?” Another step. And because the anger is too much, everything is too much, I do it.
I quickly lower the gun’s aim, and shoot.
Klein groans, staggering back.
I hit his thigh.
Elation grows inside my chest, until I see the wound. I barely found aim. Grazed off the side of his pant leg rather than buried inside him.
Fuck.
He is bleeding though, and he has bowed his head and lowered the gun by his side, putting both hands on this wound.
“Feel good?” I whisper, mania stretching inside my veins. I will enjoy every second of ending you. “You are fucking pathetic.” I say the word carved into Sullen’s chest.
My precious monster. How fucking dare they? No one gets to touch him anymore but me.
I take another step closer.
Another.
The rage feels so good. I am doing something useful now. I am not just the princess of Writhe, incapable of getting her hands dirty.
I am vengeance. His.
I flex my finger on the trigger. I will aim for his heart now. I will—
He drops his gun and runs for me. I pull the trigger and the sound reverberates in my skull but he is too low, and he knocks me onto my back in the dirt, the gun flying from my hands.
No.
My heart is in my throat, but he is on top of me, his cologne choking me like his hand around my neck.
No.
Fuck no.
I feel the warm blood from his thigh against me, and revulsion curdles in my stomach.
My fingers find the hard cast of his mask and I jerk it up, throwing it to the side as his face is exposed to me for the first time.
He is no longer choking me.
He, like Sullen when he is bare, freezes.
Bright eyes, the spitting image of Cosmo’s in shape, meet mine, and they are wide with fear, his pupils nearly obliterating the light color.
I cannot breathe.
There are scars over every inch of his face.
The outline of his bone structure is so similar to Cosmo’s, but there is age, and there are thin lines of scars everywhere.
Crisscrossing down his cheekbones, over his lips, along his temple, down his throat, I assume, the way they disappear.
There is so much scar tissue of pale pink, his complexion itself is almost hidden.
My fingers dig into his shoulders to keep him away from me, but neither of us move now.
My heart swells with sorrow.
Did he do this to himself? Did Stein do it?