8. EIGHT
EIGHT
DORIAN
I drifted down the hallway, fingertips dragging along the wallpaper, leaving smudges where the blood hadn’t dried.
The severed hand swung loosely in my grip, its fingers still curled as I pressed it against the wallpaper.
My laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, flowing off the narrow walls.
She ran ahead, barefoot, breath hitching. Her eyes were wide when she looked back. The attic door yawned open at the end, her final chance to escape.
“I’m getting closer,” I crooned, my voice lilting like a lullaby. “Closer than ever, little stepsister.”
Her fingers caught the edge of the attic door, pulling it toward her with everything she had left, but my hand slammed against it just before she did. The hard hit against the door scared her even more. I leaned in, grinning. “Boo.”
“Leave me alone!” Her scream cracked, tangled in sobs.
She wasn’t running from me. She was running from the thing she thought she had left behind.
I tilted my head, watching her. “Where exactly do you think you’re going?” My voice dropped, amused. “Out there? In here?” I tapped my temple with a bloodstained finger, chuckling. “No, no… you’re not going anywhere.”
She spun, trying to run for the stairs, but I caught her ankle. The sound she made when she hit the steps was strong like something had broken on the inside. She didn’t even try to fight.
“Please,” she whispered, again and again. “Please.”
I knelt over her. “You’ll forget where you end and I begin. That’s the beautiful part,” I murmured, brushing hair from her face with trembling fingers that weren’t mine. “I’ll haunt every corner of your mind until even your nightmares look like mercy.”
Beside her, I placed the severed hand. Her eyes locked on it, pupils shrinking. I took her chin, gently. Her tears made tiny rivers down her skin that turned pale with fear. I made her look at me, and I smiled.
I laughed, “Cry baby,” I chuckled, pressing my tongue against her cheeks and licking her tears away.
“Please, stop,”She sobbed under me, shaking. I moved my hand to her neck, and I could feel her pulse in her neck when I pressed my fingers there. I could feel my fingers tightening against her.
“Do you feel it?” I whispered, dragging my mouth close to her ear. “That pounding in your throat? That’s not fear, stepsis. That’s need.”
She screamed again, and I moaned at the sound of it. “I could wear your skin like a coat and still not feel close enough,” I whispered.
She kicked, uselessly. I let her. She can’t hurt me. “I’m going to carve myself into you until you forget where you end and I begin.”
“Stop,” she begged, “Please.”
“You are mine,” I growled in her mouth, “MINE.” I tightened my fist against her neck even harder.
“Why are you like this?” she cried out. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“Hate?” I laughed, the sound sharp. “I don’t hate you,” I said, voice low. “I never hated you.”
“Then why?” she begged, desperation cracking her voice. “Please... what did I do to make you treat me like this? Like I’m nothing?”
“You fucking left me.” My eyes widened, the words hissing through my teeth. “Chained by your father, beaten by my mother—and you just chose not to give a fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears spilling as her hand reached toward my face. I pulled away.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I let out a bitter laugh. “You’re not fucking sorry.”
She didn’t respond.
“You don’t even know what that means,” I said, stepping closer. “If you did, you would’ve stayed. Called. Checked in. Anything.” My voice cracked, and then I screamed, “BUT NO.” My hands stayed tight around her throat as I leaned in. “You had to ruin it. Ruin us. ”
“I didn’t,” she choked out, her voice breaking under my grip. “I thought… I don’t know… I can’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” My brow furrowed. “Let me help you with that.”
I stood, stripping off my black shirt. “When your dear father beat the shit out of me,” I pointed to the old scars. “When he burned me,” I held up my wrists. “When he carved his sick prayers into my chest and back—“ I turned, exposing the twisted words carved into my skin. “Ezekiel’s gift.”
I dropped down on her again. “And when I came here, broken and barely breathing. This attic. This place.” I glanced up at the rafters, Nagi hissing softly from her perch above. “I told you how I felt.”
My hands slid to her thighs, then traced the curve of her hips. I moved lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans, pushing past denim and her thongs until I felt her warmth. She bit her lip, tears still clinging to her lashes.
She wanted this.
I wanted this.
“Remember now?” I whispered against her throat, sinking my teeth into her skin. My fingers moved down, dragging along her soft, trembling pussy. Her body twisted beneath mine, caught between fear and lust.
But she didn’t deserve it. Not anymore.
I pulled my hand back, then pressed hard against her clit, drawing a sharp moan from her lips just before I pulled my hand out.
“I hope you remember,” I said coldly. “And I hope it fucking destroys you.”
I stepped back. She stood frozen on the stairs, legs slowly drawing together like she was trying to hold herself in. One hand hovered at her lips. Her head tilted just enough to avoid looking at the severed hand resting beside her.
She didn’t know fucker was still alive downstairs.
I just took from him what he never deserved in the first place—his sight, so he’d never lay eyes on her again. No one will. She’s mine. His hands, so he’d never touch her again. Never hit her again. She’s mine. Only mine. And she will know it.
I turned my back to her. “You destroyed me when you left. Hope you survive my destruction.”
Then I walked away, her sobs trailing behind me, bleeding through the staircase.
I’m going to break her so beautifully, that she won’t even realize it’s happening. I’ll be the only thought she lets inside that pretty little head.
As I headed back downstairs, my fingers brushed the wall, peeling away strips of old wallpaper. Now that this rotted family is finally gone—now that I’ve torn down everything they built—I can let the ghosts out. Every last one of them. Even mine.
I closed my eyes and slipped back in time. The day after her birthday.
I’d kept my distance for so long, trying to stay away, because thinking about her twisted something in me. Turned me into a bad man.
I wanted to cut my stepfather’s throat. I wanted him to pay for every slap, every bruise he left on her. But every time he raised his hand, my brain short-circuited, flung back to when I was twelve—the voices, the static, the screams tearing through my skull.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
And I did. I froze. No control over my body. Like something else had taken hold of me. Possessed.
But when she looked at me, I felt human again. Like she was curing me. So if I had to take the pain—beatings, burnings, cuts, even death—I’d take it. All of it.
For her.
She was my Trouble. And trouble always had a way of finding me. But my Trouble? She had angel wings... until she didn’t. 99% of the time, she glowed like light, but that other 1%? God help anyone who woke the monster sleeping inside her.
People called me heartless. Wait till they meet my beautiful monster.
“Dorian!” my stepfather shouted. “Your mother and I need to talk to you.”
I was one step from her bedroom. One step from handing her the necklace I’d picked out for her with gold chain, and heart pendant. I wanted to tell her she held my heart.
But of course, they needed me. They always needed me at the wrong time.
I slipped the necklace into my back pocket and headed for the kitchen, where they were waiting.
They weren’t alone. Two men in suits sat beside them. For a second, I thought they were here to drag me back to the psych ward. But then I saw Lenore’s photo on the table, clipped to a pile of papers.
“Sit down,” he barked.
I dragged the chair back slowly and dropped into it, arms crossed, eyes locked on them.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Your sister’s been seeing things,” my mom said. “Things that aren’t real.”
I frowned, confused.
“She’s sleepwalking. Talking to walls, to dolls. For her good, we’re going to keep her downstairs. We’re having a party soon and we’ll need you to bring her down in the basement.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It never did. She was fake. Always had been. Lies were her native tongue, and I’d stopped believing her years ago.
Lenore wasn’t crazy. Not like they said. Hell, she was more sane than I was. And even if she spoke to things that weren’t there—so what? She was lonely. She needed someone.
Well, don’t worry, little stepsis. You’ve got me now. And they can all burn for what they did. Because I swear—I’ll never let them lock you up the way they did me.
So I smiled. Played along. “Alright.”
“I’m glad you understand,” she said, looking down at me like she owned me.
Since I arrived, I’ve questioned everything, every glance, every word, every smile that didn’t quite fit.
I stood up. “If that’s all?”
“No,” the stepfather said. “You both will attend the party.”
“Fun,” I said, flashing him the same fake smile they gave to me. If they can pretend, so can I.
He nodded. Dismissed me.
I turned and walked out, all I could think about was her. I needed to see her. To tell her maybe we could run away. Together.
Her bedroom door was already cracked open. She sat on the floor in that black dress with a white bow tied at the back. Her long black hair spilled in loose curls down her spine. Even from here, I could smell her—lime and basil. Burned into my brain. My favorite scent in the world.
She was whispering to her doll. Too old for dolls, sure. Too crazy? Maybe. But I loved her kind of crazy. It made mine feel...normal. With her, nothing felt wrong—not with me, not with her. Just us, broken in the same way.
She gasped when she noticed me.
“Trouble?” I grinned. “Talking to dolls now?”
“I’m talking to myself,” she said, rolling her eyes and setting the doll aside. “Because I’m the only one who understands me.”
“You’ve got me,” I said, stepping closer. I offered her my hand. She placed her palm in mine, and I pulled her to her feet. Her body brushed against mine. Her hand rested on my chest like she belonged there.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she murmured, pushing against me gently.
“What wouldn’t I understand?”
“Feelings,” she smirked. Her fingers traced a slow line down my chin. “You don’t have those.”
“Ouch,” I said. “You’re colder than Nagi.”
“Nagi?” she blinked. “You named your snake Nagi?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. That pale skin begging to be touched. And those eyes, those ocean blue eyes—I could lose myself in them.
“Lenore was taken,” I said with a shrug, laughing softly, my face just inches from hers.
“Asshole.” She pushed me away.
I laughed.
I pressed two fingers to my lips, then moved them to hers. “Shhh. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
I pulled her closer. Her small body pressed against mine just as my back touched the closet door. She was so light, I could lift her with one arm. So fragile, you’d want to cradle her and never let go. But her mind? That was another story. Heavy. Dark. Beautiful and terrifying.
Sometimes I wondered what she really thought of me—but her body always told me more than her words ever did.
“I want to teach you all the things I was too afraid to ask that night,” I whispered. “Back when we played Memory Lane. I’ll make you tell stories you’re too embarrassed to admit.” I leaned in closer, voice lower. “Tell them you fucked your stepbrother.”
She shoved me hard. “Dream on, lover boy.”
I laughed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back. “Nah, Trouble. I can only promise you one thing…”
She stared at me, breath caught in her throat.
“…I’ll make you live in a nightmare.”