Chapter Thirty
Mal
I winced as my teeth sliced through my forearm, drawing a fresh torrent of blood. I dipped my fingers in the wound, hissing at the sting, and set to finishing Tuesday’s portrait.
Something was missing.
I painted “MINE” in large dripping letters over her throat. Then again, on her forehead. Her cheeks. Her lips.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
I stood back to admire my work and frowned.
I’d gotten carried away. My bloody proclamations covered all of her.
Unable to contain the rage I felt from not being able to see her face, I slammed my fist into the cement until my knuckles bled. Then, using the blood from the fresh wound, I started over on a new wall.
The shutter covering the peephole of my cell door opened with a loud clank. My bloody knuckles cracked as my fists clenched from irritation. How dare they interrupt my work?
“You’re finally out of your jacket, and this is what you do? You really are one crazy fuck.” The orderly snorted. “Every other poor bastard in your cage would be rubbing their meat until it’s raw.”
“Fuck off, I’m busy—”
“Wait, what in the fuck happened to you?”
“Boiled alive,” I muttered, paying no mind to the orderly or my red and peeling flesh.
“Ah, classic,” the man cackled.
After a few moments of tense silence, filled only with my unparsable muttering, the orderly on guard shut the peephole with a bored sigh.
Once I was nearly done with her portrait, my attention snagged on the shade of my blood, particularly on her mouth. If only my tainted blood were a brighter shade of red, then it would match the lipstick the doctor liked. Pity.
Then, I blinked. Or I thought I had. It felt like no time at all, yet I must have blacked out for at least a handful of minutes, because the second portrait was now completely covered by my obsessive brush strokes.
This time, it was different from the first.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. XXX. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. XX. Mine. XX. XXX. XX. Mine. XX. Mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Every few words, an X stained her portrait—a deliberate pattern I didn’t remember painting.
The little window in my door opened again. “Oye. Hey, Picasso. You have a visitor.”
“Good joke,” I told him, too busy trying to figure out my latest masterpiece to turn around.
“Are you sure you want me to leave you alone with this one, Dr. Beckett?”
My attention jerked from the wall, and in a blink, I was at my door, the bars of my mask clanking against the metal as I tried to get a good look past the orderly.
I didn’t let myself hope it was truly her. It could be just another cruel trick of Rook’s, but my chest lifted, and my cock swelled as the guard stepped aside to reveal my doctor.
“Yes. Leave us. Now.”
The bulge in my pants grew at the firm bite in her voice as she addressed the demon. Was she learning that she was better than all of them? An angel in a cesspit of demons and damned souls.
With an apprehensive look, the orderly turned away, leaving us alone.
Dr. Beckett stepped up to the door, keeping an arm’s length from the window. She must have noticed that the hole was just big enough to squeeze my arm through if properly motivated. Smart girl.
I didn’t want to hurt her. But the mad thing inside me was unpredictable. I could black out and come to her with blood on my hands and no memory of what I’d done.
She gasped, eyes widening with horror. “What happened to you?” Due to my fast regeneration, the boils and burns were gone, leaving a raw layer of bright red skin.
“Don’t worry about it, Doc. I’ll heal soon.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Did Rook do this to you?”
I grinned, licking my lips. “Well, it’s not a sunburn. But if you want to come in here and give me a proper examination.”
Her concern ebbed, and in its place, annoyance sparked. “Not on your life.”
“It’s the middle of the night, Doc. What are you doing here?”
She held up a yellowed book, pressing it to the window. “What the hell is this?”
My journal. I hadn’t seen it in what felt like a lifetime. “Ah. Good. You found it. How is Bunny? Is she doing okay?”
The silence was suffocating as Tuesday kept the journal held to the window. A whine lodged in my throat.
“Doc? Come on. Let me see you.”
Another agonizing stretch of silence. Then, she finally lowered the journal with a sigh. “She seems better than she was in your journal’s accounts. But she’s still traumatized. Probably always will be. I’m working on getting her out.”
A cruel fist of regret gripped my heart. If only that were possible. “You're a good woman, Dr. Beckett.”
She gave a bitter chuckle. “Right. Well, you’re a dirty bastard.”
“Well, that’s true. But what have I done to anger you? I’d think you’d be happy to find the journal. You gotta admit, it’s an interesting read.”
“You made me degrade myself for your fucked up fanfiction!” She smacked the last entry with an angry gesture. “Or do you believe this actually happened?”
“Fanfiction?” My gaze hardened with cold amusement. “Of course. How silly of me. Why wouldn’t you think my journal is nothing more but the scribbles of a maniac?”
“It’s just that it ends abruptly, and you end on a fictional note.”
“Fictional?”
“Well…” She cleared her throat, carefully choosing her words. “It’s just…”
“Listen, Doc. I might not have all the screws—” I tapped my temple with a finger “—but I wasn’t always like this. That journal was from before…”
“Before what exactly?”
“Before everything went to complete shit.” My eyes took their time roaming over the length of her body. She had a bathrobe on, covered in a dark figure wearing a white mask with a stretched out mouth and bubbled text reading Call Me.
“So, does the mask do it for you then?”
My cock throbbed almost painfully in arousal at the sight of her. She looked disheveled compared to how I’d seen her last. Before, she’d exuded professionalism with a delightful dash of sex and charm.
Now she had her hair gathered into a messy pile on top of her head, her sleep-heavy eyes bright with determination.
“What?” It was as if she’d been in such a hurry to confront me about the journal that she hadn’t given much thought to the fact that she’d come here in nothing but her pajamas.
Realizing that I was eying her bare thighs—she wore only an oversized t-shirt reading I WANT PIZZA NOT FEELINGS—under her open robe.
She quickly pulled the robe closed with a huff.
“Focus. Why did the nurse tell you Bunny was dead? Did you save her? What happened?”
I shrugged. “She died.”
“Bunny is very much alive, and you know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sent me on a wild goose chase with her to find your journal.”
“Well, she’s not dead anymore. Not really alive either, but you’re not ready to hear about that yet.”
“Rook… He hasn’t…” I swallowed the fist in my throat. “He’s staying away from her?”
“I think so. Nurse Beatrice seems to keep him sated. The rest of the time, he’s shut up in his lab.”
“Believe what you want about the journal, but know that Rook is a dangerous monster who gets off on punishing me for humiliating and mutilating him. He will use you to hurt me. In his favorite way to use a woman.”
With a face of stone, she nodded. “I’ll kill him if he tries.”
If only it were that easy. “That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your girl, Dr. Rook.”
I gnashed my teeth at the name, a growl rising from my chest. “Don’t call me that.”
“You want me to be ‘your girl,’ but you won’t let me use your given name?”
“It’s his name. He disowned me. So, I disowned him, his name, and the entire fucking bloodline.”
“You are not your father. I might question certain parts of your story in this journal, but what I do believe is that you were a good man once. And maybe that good man is somewhere inside you still.”
“He’s gone,” I said bitterly.
“That’s not true. You’re just unwell.”
Her attention slipped past my head to catch a glimpse of the bloody wall behind me that emphasized her point. Then her face drained of all color as she seemed to pick up her portrait from beneath the heavy layer of fresh blood.
“Is that supposed to be me?”