Chapter 42 Monroe
MONROE
Five Months Prior to Present Day,
Junior Year,
Sigma
Not three.
I spin the dial slowly.
Not four. The resistance didn’t change.
I spin further and feel the resistance give ever so slightly.
Click. Barely perceptible.
It’s five.
Zero is the first number. Five is the second. This must be a date.
My eyes and ears are keenly focused while my brain spins like a washing machine, processing.
The parallels are unmistakably clear. How he had preyed on my deepest insecurities that my brain had buried, caged off from the rest of my day-to-day consciousness as a form of protection.
Or survival. But he found them, and then he weaponized my vulnerabilities, turning me against myself.
The love bombing, the gaslighting, the belittling, the blame when he felt me pull away, the unhinged, desperate behavior when I threatened to leave. The isolation when he knew he had lost me. He ground me down to the bone, and I let him.
But I can’t blame myself for persevering the only way I knew how, pulling tools from a rusty, forgotten but not gone toolkit.
I can’t blame myself for clinging to each breadcrumb of counterfeit kindness with the desperation of a starving child, because I was the starving child, and you can’t fault a child for wanting to be unconditionally loved and not made to earn affection like a puppet on a string.
It was give-and-take with my mom, I gave and she took.
It’s been give-and-take with Kieren. I see that now, and I can’t chastise myself for losing a game I was never going to win.
If I weren’t being held hostage in a dog cage by my psychopath ex-boyfriend, who plans to literally kill me, I would have the strength to get up and walk away.
I’m sure it would hurt, like it always does when you rip off the Band-Aid.
But a kind boy once told me that the devil doesn’t deserve my tears, and he was right.
Maybe one day, I’ll find him again, if the Universe allows me to find peace.
Click.
The number one.
Whatever accidental trauma my brain expunged over the last few days while I was in and out of consciousness has been a gift. If I didn’t wish him dead, I might thank Kieren for opening my eyes to what I otherwise may never have seen.
I feel lighter, validated now that the pathways to examine the darkest areas of my past have been cleared.
It wasn’t easy to remember. In fact, it was excruciating, and I wonder if my screaming sobs were real or imagined.
But in a way, it felt like closure. I can see how those buried memories were subconsciously plaguing me.
My childhood needs were holding me back, allowing me to fall victim to old patterns. Never again.
For starters, I'm not letting my abusive, narcissist mom back into my life. Never will I answer another phone call, and even if she does get out of prison one day, I’ll never let her see me. Calls, texts, emails... let her try. I am done. And if I can let my own mother go, I can let Kieren go, too.
I sit in the stillness of my newfound levity, feeling my body.
Feeling the metal wires of the cage dig into my shoulder as I press against them, holding the lock taut.
My legs have gone numb from the lack of space to stretch them fully.
My throat is so dry, I can barely swallow, but I don’t dare drink the water.
I’ve already made that mistake, and it cost me another day of hallucination down memory lane.
My hunger has returned. Small, circular disks of brown dog food spill from the bowl in the cage like a feeding trough.
I’m not embarrassed to admit I’ve eaten them.
Under the surface of my skin, a sensation boils. At first, it was a simmer, bubbling alongside my initial feelings of revelation and repose. Now, it tingles with a heat so hot, I might explode. It demands release, like a volcano awoken after centuries of forced dormancy.
Rage.
Rage for being treated like I’m worthless. Rage for what my mom did to me and my grandmother’s complicity. Rage for how my mom paraded me around like I was flypaper, a tool only good for one thing; a tool you trash once it has served its purpose.
Rage at Kieren for preying on my need to feel wanted. For years, he preyed on my wounds, exploiting them for his own wanton desires. I feel nothing but hate for this man. I loathe the air he breathes. I’m going to get out of this fucking cage, and then I’m going to kill him.
Fury simmers under my skin like a furnace. Once I get my hands on my little Icarus ex-boyfriend, I’ll burn him and every monster in this hellhole to the motherfucking ground.
Click.
Two.
Zero-Five-One-Two.
May twelfth. It doesn’t take a scholar’s mind to know what this day signifies.
My death day.
How fucking original.
“Jesus fuck, Kieren. It reeks in here.”
No shit, Jace. That’s what happens when you keep a human in a cage for over three days, I think, wishing I could speak to Jace mind-to-mind.
“It’s because she pissed herself. I’ve already had to change her once.”
Right... I do vaguely remember Kieren pulling me from the cage, swearing at me. This explains the puppy pee pad crunching underneath me for the last two days.
“Was she lucid?”
“Barely. I take her out once a day for a walk around my room, don’t worry.”
Jace makes a disgusted, scoffing noise, and I make a mental note to remove him from my kill list. “It’s not right, Kieren. We should take her to the hospital. She might have brain damage.”
“You’re so fucking weak, Jace.”
“Dude, it’s just… she’s your girlfriend. Drop the act. Everyone knows you love her. You’ve been obsessed with her for the past three years!”
“Was my girlfriend, and no, I don’t. Not anymore.”
“Bullshit. We all watched you fuck her on Saturday night with your tongue down her throat like you couldn’t get enough, like we’ve done at each one of these Full Moon Ceremonies.”
“Does watching her ride my cock make your dick hard, Jace?”
“Give me a fucking break, you two put on a show, and you know it. The king and his trophy queen. You can’t leave her in there. She’s going to starve to death or die of dehydration.”
“She has water.”
“But it’s laced.”
“Are you such a bitch Jace, that you wouldn’t do this to Gabi? If she had cost us what this bitch cost us? Are you telling me you’re fine with human sacrifice but draw the line at physical imprisonment?”
“Leave that bitch out of this. You and I both know if it were Gabi, I’d do far worse than put her in a cage, but Monroe didn’t fuck you over like Gabi did to me,” he growls out before changing his tone to something softer.
“The two are not the same. The opposite, actually. All I’m saying is you’re taking this way too far. ”
“And you’re about to take a bullet,” Kieren quips at Jace in that cocky little bitch-boy voice of his, and I’m reminded of my first impression of Kieren when we met our freshman year, right here at Sigma, no less, for a return-to-campus barbecue: entitled, elitist brat.
I hate this man. I hate this man with every fiber of my being. Threatening me with the gun is one thing, but threatening his right-hand man as well, like taking a life is a fucking joke to him?
“Fuck you, Kieren. Shoot me or shut the fuck up. I know you’re mad, as I would be.
I’m not saying what Monroe did was right.
It was stupid and reckless. I’m sure you got an earful from that gold-horned motherfucker.
I’m sure he threatened to end whatever scheme he’s got you wrapped up in, just like he does with my father.
That asshole extortionist must have all of Sigma wrapped around his pinky finger.
I wish I knew this guy’s identity, but then again, based on his fondness for ending human lives, he probably kills anyone who figures it out. ”
“He probably sacrifices them,” Kieren chuckles, again, as if murder is funny. These rich pricks think they’re so goddamn untouchable, don’t they?
“I think we should cancel the Little Sisters mixer tonight.”
“Why?” Kieren sneers.
“Because the girls are freaked out!”
“I thought we had this under control? She had a psychotic break because of the drugs. That’s all.”
“It’s not just Monroe. People are going to start asking questions. It’s been two now.”
Kieren releases an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. “And doesn’t it feel good, Jacey? I’m sure your daddy is happy.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re unstable,” Jace mutters.
Kieren scoffs. “I’ve been unstable my entire life; welcome to the fucking party.
Listen, Sigma has been practicing the Ritual of Sacrifice for over a century.
We have people on our side. Powerful people.
People who can make problems go away. Besides, the administration and police have already been handsomely taken care of I’m told, so I need you to sort your shit out, Jace, and remember who the fuck is in charge here. ”
“Keep the mixer,” Kieren states. “Tell the brothers to be on their best behavior to smooth over any disharmony, especially Barrett. He’s getting too rough with his bitch. I saw the bruises on her neck at the Full Moon Ceremony.”
I mentally move Barrett up on my list, right below Kieren and immediately preceding Harrison, the useless lackey who restrained me while Kieren shoved pills down my throat.
My heart breaks as I think of Kasey, and how I lied to her. I lied to her for Kieren. Goddammit, I’m so fucking culpable. If anything more happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. I hear my breath hitch as my rage builds, and I pray the monster in the room doesn’t notice.
“Fine,” Jace acquiesces.
I can sense Jace is staring down at me as I pretend to be asleep.
He wants to do more. He wants to help. I don’t understand this hold Kieren has over him, aside from the gun, which, when directed at Jace, is nothing more than an empty threat.
Let’s be honest, Jace is going nowhere, and both he and Kieren know it, so why is Jace subjugating himself to Kieren’s will?
I assume the gold-horned reference is to the elder I believe is X.
What extortion scheme is Jace referring to?
What control does this guy have over these families?
Does this have something to do with the comment about Jace’s father being pleased about the murder of two women?
Who are these people who take pleasure in the extinguishment of a life, and why?
What sinister motive is behind these heinous crimes?
I know the ultra-rich and powerful are all sorts of fucked up, but am I to believe this is done simply because they can?
The thought nauseates me. If I had food in my stomach, I would puke it up. But I can’t unpack this mystery right now, and certainly not in my compromised circumstances.
Please God, I utter in silent prayer, I know I’m not your favorite.
I’m far from your chosen. But if you ever allow me freedom, I promise you, I will dedicate the rest of my life to eradicating this cancer that is Sigma, and especially X.
I will bring justice to its victims, if it’s the last thing I ever do, even if it costs me everything in return.
The mixer tonight is the perfect cover. I’ve made it this far. I can make it a few more hours.