Chapter 22
Down the Drain
Lolli-Gag
They make me shower. No asking or suggesting. Two orderlies stand outside the stall like I might crawl down the drain and disappear into the pipes like Pennywise. Maybe I could—I should. Things might be easier down there instead of up here.
The water comes on with a cough, a sputter—thin and miserable.
The stream hits my skin, making me flinch.
Lukewarm. Always fucking lukewarm. Never hot or cold.
Never anything enough to feel real. Just this in between temperature, like Hillsboro doesn’t want us clean. Just rinse, processed, and reset.
I stand beneath the spray with my hands at my sides while the white paint melts off my face in streaks.
Red slips down my chin as black runs from my eyes like broken rivers.
I look down and watch it circle the drain.
There goes my smile… There goes—Lolli. The girl who knows how to laugh when the world opens its mouth.
My fingers twitch. “…Jethro?” I whisper, but nothing.
The drug is still in me. I know because the tiles keep breathing…
in and out. The grout lines stretch and twist much like how my body feels.
The drain whispers as the shower curtain sways even though no one touched it.
Then I see him. Vinny. Standing behind the steam.
Not reflected but not fully here. Just a dark shape with short black hair and eyes that don’t blink.
“Ghostboy?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer, just stands there and watches.
Water trails down my back, making my skin prickle from the weight of his gaze.
“You left,” I whisper, and his head tilts, shaking.
Then he takes a step forward and I take him in.
His chest is littered with tattoos that I didn’t notice before, and I lick my lips.
My eyes drift down and widen when I see his hard cock looking up at me.
“Happy to see me?” I ask, and he nods. Still not saying a word.
He steps into my space ,and my back hits the cold tile, causing my breathing to hitch.
His fingers caress my naked cheek then drag down my jaw to my chest. He cups my breasts with both hands then leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth.
I moan as he sucks my hardened peaks, switching as his thumb flicks the other one.
I dig my nails into his scalp then he releases my nipple with a pop.
He towers above me as his hand finds my thigh and lifts it around his waist. I reach for his face and bring it down to me, then press my lips against his, sucking his bottom lip, feeling his cock poking at my entrance.
He pulls away and looks into my eyes, and with one sharp snap, he slams inside me, making my head bounce off the tile.
“Time is up! Water is shutting off in one minute,” the orderly says, and I blink. He’s gone. Tears well in my eyes because he felt so fucking real. I felt him. I touched his warm body. What the fuck?
“I’m trying!” I answer as the water runs cold. I close my eyes, and for one second, I pretend Vinny is here—inside me, but add the rest of them too. Jagger’s hands. Killian's voice, and Lucifer’s smile. All of them close enough to make this place feel less empty.
Suddenly, the water shuts off and the world goes cold without ever having been warm.
They rip the curtain open and throw a thin towel at me.
I take it and wrap it around my body. One orderly pulls me out and I stumble a bit then grab onto the edge of the sink.
The other comes behind me and runs his hands up my outer thigh, grabbing a handful of my ass.
He groans, and I gag. Then, I’m spun around as the other takes the man's place. He looks me up and down, then rips the towel from my body, causing my tits to shake. They both stare at me like I’m something to eat, and all I want to do is crawl down the drain into the depths of darkness.
This is the part I hate. Them dressing me.
Hands glide all over my skin, making me shiver in disgust. Touching.
Pulling. Sinking. They use my body for their own pleasure, and I don’t protest. What’s the use?
I have no fight left in me… too exhausted to care anymore.
“Stay still.”
“Arms up.”
“Stop making it difficult.”
I just stare at the wall, letting it glare back at me with disgust. Jethro is still quiet. Too fucking quiet.
“Are you mad at me?” I whisper as one orderly glances over at me.
“What?” he asks, and I smile.
“Not you,” I say, and his face tightens.
They finally finish and take me back to my room. Not the cafeteria. Not to therapy, and not to Master D. Which means no one is coming.
They drag me inside, and I see the straps are already on the bed, making my stomach drop. “No!” I protest, but the orderly grabs my arm, pulling me anyway. I jerk, ripping out of his grip. “I said no!”
“Don’t start, Logan!” he growls, and I shake my head as the other orderly moves behind me. My mother’s voice slithers up from somewhere rotten and I want to vomit.
“Hold still, Logan,” she whispers as tears well in my eyes.
“No!” I shout and swing wildly. I don’t want to be held down.
I don’t want to be restrained. I did everything that was asked of me.
I wasn’t a failure. “Get off of me!” I scream, but the drug makes my limbs slow, my knees loose, and my thoughts thick and sticky.
They throw me onto the bed and grab my wrists first. I thrash, fighting them off, but it’s no use.
My ankles are grabbed then the chest strap wraps over me, suffocating my lungs.
Once secured, I let the tears fall down the sides of my face.
I’m not a girl anymore. Logan is dead, and Lolli poured down the drain.
I’m just a thing—a specimen, a mistake with a pulse.
The buckle snaps into place, and my breath comes too fast. “Please,’ I whisper, begging them to let me go, but they leave, shutting the door behind them and locking it. Now I’m alone. No Jethro. No chaos. No one.
I stare at the twelve, no thirteen cracks on the ceiling.
They move, then I blink hard, but they don’t stop.
One of them opens like a mouth, making me laugh.
“Jethro?” I giggle, but nothing. My fingers curl against the restraints.
“Jethro, I’m scared. Where are you?” I whisper, then there it is.
A breath inside my skull—a flicker of red.
“I know,” he whispers back as relief hits so hard my eyes burn.
“You left.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“You went somewhere I couldn’t follow,” he says, and my throat tightens.
“Where?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. The room fades at the edges as the corners stretch.
The walls turn brown and yellow. Trailer walls.
Peeling wallpaper. Home. The smell hits me next.
Stale smoke. Cheap liquor. Burnt sugar. My whole body locks.
“No!” I yell, and suddenly, the bed is gone, but I still can’t move.
I’m small again. Eight or nine years old with dirt under my nails and hunger in my stomach.
Dread crawls up my spine, because the sun went down, and I went home late.
My mother stands in the kitchen as a few men sit on the couch, smoking and drinking.
Her hair is cut nicely and her face is wearing makeup.
“Hey there, Logan. Come here and meet my friends,” she says, her smile soft and her voice sweet. I whimper. I hate that sound. I hate that it comes from me. She laughs at my fear, which only makes me tremble harder.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t mean it,” I say, and she laughs again.
“Baby, it’s okay,” she says, stepping closer. The floor bends under her feet and her eyes turn dark. I look around the room and the men are now naked. Holding their cocks, licking their lips. I shiver. I don’t want to be touched today. Please. Don’t let them touch me.
“You were born wrong, Logan. Now, be a good girl and play with us,” she sings, and my chest shakes.
“N-no, Mama. Please no,” I beg, and she steps in my space, wrapping her fist in my white hair.
“You came out screaming and you never stopped. Hold her down,” she tells them, and I try to pull away but the straps hold me in place.
There are straps in the trailer now. On the floor.
On the walls. On my skin. Everywhere. “No one loves noisy girls,” she whispers, licking the side of my face.
My eyes burn as tears fall down my cheeks.
“Please let me go. Don’t let them touch me. It hurts. Please mama,” I beg, but she leans in, her rancid breath crawling over my skin.
“I love it when it hurts, especially when it burns.” She laughs, and I scream. The kitchen light flickers. The oven light glows behind her like a second sun.
“Wake up,” Jethro says.
“I can’t,” I whimper as hands touch me.
“You can!” he yells, then my mother’s hand strokes my hair. I flinch so hard the world jumps and everything flickers.
“Poor Logan. Always making up monsters because she can’t admit the worst one was her mommy,” she mocks as more hands touch me, pinch me, and dig into my skin.
“No! Make it stop. Make it stop!” I scream again, but her laughter echoes in my mind.
“You made them up too. Didn’t you?” she growls, and my eyes snap open.
“Now they’re mine!” She smiles as she straddles Killian's lap then takes Jagger's cock into her mouth while Lucifer sinks into her ass, but Vinny… Vinny guides her hand to his dick then looks me deep in my eyes, moaning loudly. “They could never love a crazy girl like you. No one could,” she groans, and I cry, letting the tears slip. Then suddenly, the kitchen, the trailer, my mother, and the guys just disappear, sending me into complete darkness. I thrash against my restraints and a blinding white light has me thrusted into another room, one I’ve never seen before, but there in the corner is Jethro.
He stands quickly, his hand hovering near mine.
“She lies. Don’t believe her,” he says as my lips shake.
“What if she doesn’t?” I ask, and his face changes. Not to anger or pity but to sadness.
“Then we find the truth.”
“I don’t want it if it means I’m alone,” I whisper, and he leans closer, brushing his cold cheek against mine.
“You’re not alone,” he says, and I shiver.
“I am. No one loves me,” I say, and the room stills, even the cracks stop moving. My mother’s laugh echoes in the distance.
Jethro turns his head slowly. “That is a lie I will not let live.” Then the blackness snaps, and I wake up gasping for air.
My hands fly to my wrists. No straps. Chest—free.
My ankles… free. I sit up too fast and nearly fall off the bed.
The room is normal again. As normal as a room can be when it knows too much.
No orderlies. No mother. No boys. Just me and stale air. Just the ghost of lukewarm water drying on my skin. My face feels naked as I lift my fingers to my cheek. No paint. No smile. My throat tightens again as the door buzzes making me flinch.
“Therapy,” someone calls from the hall. Dr. Petrova and circle time.
I get up and do my daily routine. Slather on the makeup and hide all my imperfections.
I wait for Axel's soft shuffle outside my door. Nothing. Axel always drags one foot when he walks… just a little. I listen… but nothing. I’m really not in the mood to talk—to pretend I’m not a monster during circle time.
After I finish, I lean in and listen for the hum of my guys, but again.
Nothing, just Hillsboro breathing. I walk into the hallway looking left and right.
“Axel?” I whisper, but no answer. Jethro doesn’t even say anything.
That scares me. The hallway feels longer than yesterday, or maybe I’m smaller.
I stop at Brielle’s room but her door is locked. Shit! That’s not good.
The creatures shuffle towards the therapy wing. Some mumble. Some stare. Becky laughs into her hands like she’s holding a secret, then there’s Ellie still telling everyone to eat their hands.
I can’t help but look for Axel and the guys but every empty doorway feels like a missing tooth. Every corner feels like it should give me one of them. But there’s only blank space.
We reach the therapy room and the chairs are already in a circle. Dr. Petrova looks up at me when I enter, placing down his pen.
“Good morning, Logan,” he says, and I sit down without saying a word. He huffs, and I roll my eyes. “Why so much make up, Logan?” he asks, and my eyes snap to him then narrow.
“To hide the scars left by my mother. It’s not everyday you come across a girl riddled with burn marks because her mother tried to cook her. That a good enough answer for you doc?” I spit, and he takes a deep breath.
“You know that’s not the story,” he says, and I growl.
“It is. I don’t care what you say. You weren’t there,” I grit, but he doesn’t answer. He waits for everyone else to sit, and I look around the room. “Where’s Axel?” I ask.
“He will not be joining us today,” he says with annoyance as my fingers curl around the edge of the chair.
“Why?”
“He’s unavailable.”
Unavailable. I hate that word. That means hidden. Hurt. Gone. My lips twitch.
“Brielle?” I ask.
“She is not feeling good today and is excused,” he tells me, and I fold my arms over my chest.
“I never feel good. Can I be excused?”
“No!” he deadpans, and I huff.
“And the others?” I ask as he watches me closely.
“What others?”
I laugh once. Small and empty. “Right,” I say as he folds his hands in his lap.
“Who are you looking for?”
I stare at him. I could say their names, I could scream until my throat bleeds, maybe even throw a chair. Instead, my voice comes out quiet.
“No one,” I say, and Jethro stirs.
“Liar,” he accuses as I press my nails into my palms. Dr. Petrova leans forward.
“Logan. I think we should talk about what you believe happened yesterday,” he states, and my eyes lift.
“What I believe?" I question as he lifts his pen and moves it over his paper.
“Yes,”
A laugh bubbles in my throat. This one is better.
This one has an edge. “You mean what you erased?” I accuse, and his gaze flickers just a little, but I see it.
But before I can speak, something crashes in the hall.
Hard, violent, and beautiful. The room freezes and another crash followed by shouting.
A deep voice roaring something I can’t make out.
My heart stops then starts again. Hope is ugly when it comes back. It bites on the way in.
My head turns toward the door, and Dr. Petrova stands.
“Stay seated,” he orders, but I’m already smiling. I know that sound. That kind of rage. My fingers loosen from the chair as my smile stretches across my face.
“Jagger,” I whisper, and somewhere down the hall, the chaos answers.