14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
JUDE GRAVES
I think I need another pill. Whatever the hell Micah gave me earlier.
It took the edge off, dulled the worst of it, but my skin still won’t chill the fuck out.
It’s like something is crawling just beneath it, tangling through my veins and causing the worst goddamn itching.
He said it would help with the heroin withdrawals. And it did.
Thank fuck.
I’ve been here for a few days now, and nothing feels right.
Not my body. Not my head. I spent so long wanting them—wanting her—while I was being torn apart piece by piece, over and over again.
I held onto that. Onto Emma, Micah, Heather, anything that felt like light in the never-ending fucking darkness.
And now I’m here. And I feel…nothing.
Why don’t I feel anything?
I hate it. I hate that when I look at the woman I love, something inside me recoils, as if she’s a threat. Like she’s the thing that’s going to hurt me when my brain and heart know better. But my body…
My body doesn’t listen to me anymore. Alexei held that thread connecting my mind and body between his fingers and severed it.
Adriana looks like shit, too. I’m honestly surprised Micah hasn’t put a bullet in her head. Maybe he’s waiting.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, and for once, the pain isn’t ripping me apart.
No cold sweats soaking through the sheets, or nausea twisting my stomach into knots.
Just this strange, fragile quiet. It should feel like relief, but it definitely doesn’t.
Because now there’s nothing to distract me from what’s in my head.
Alexei didn’t just hurt me or break me down.
He rebuilt me into something else, carved out whatever was left of my soul, and replaced it with a monster that listens, reacts, and obeys.
And the most agonizing, terrifying part?
It worked.
A slow breath leaves my lungs as I stare at the ceiling, my thoughts slipping, tangling. Without the drugs, everything feels sharper, even when it’s dull. I haven’t been sober in so long that I don’t even know what’s real anymore. Is this who I am now without it? Or is this what he left behind?
Living with feelings is like seeing the world in color.
Most people wake up drowning in it without even realizing.
Gold light through windows, laughter painting the room in shards of yellow, or hands reaching for you in the dark because they want you there.
But my world has been ash for so long that I barely remember what color looked like.
Nothing reaches me anymore. Everything just… passes through me.
I should hate it. I think part of me used to.
Now I just feel...whatever about it, I suppose.
Sometimes I wonder if something inside me stopped working years ago and nobody noticed except me.
Like a clock with shattered gears still trying to tick.
The thought makes me sad. Maybe one day I’ll find the rhythm again.
Or maybe I’ll disappear into the earth exactly like this, carrying the same colorless weight that turned every good thing gray.
My gaze drifts, landing on the mask sitting on the dresser across the room. I can’t reach it, but it feels like it’s watching me anyway. The damn thing remembers everything I did while I was wearing it. My jaw tightens, and I turn my head away from it, forcing my eyes shut.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I am not the mask. The mask is not me.
But it still feels like we are one in the same.
My thoughts are forced back when the door flies open. My eyes shoot toward it and land on her. The flinch hits before I can even fucking think about it. My muscles lock, my chest pulling tight as if I’ve just been punched in the ribs.
Fuck.
I hate that I did that. Because I know her. I know her. But my body reacts like it doesn’t.
“Jude,” she says, stepping inside, her voice careful.
Micah’s right behind her.
Something is wrong. My focus shifts to him immediately because it’s easier. Because he doesn’t make my head feel like it’s splitting open.
“Something’s happened,” she continues. “And you deserve to know.”
My jaw tightens as I push myself up, the chain at my wrist clinking softly with the movement. I keep my eyes off her face directly, letting them hover somewhere near her shoulder instead. Anywhere but her face.
“Then tell me,” I say, my voice rougher than I expect.
There’s a pause that feels way too fucking long. Micah shifts behind her, and I catch the look on his face. He’s losing his shit, I can tell.
“What?” I snap, sharper now. “Just say it.”
Emma exhales, and I hear it shake. And that’s when it really sinks in. Whatever this is…
It’s bad.
“Alexei released a video,” she says quietly. “To the public.”
My stomach drops. “A video of what?”
Another pause. Then, softer. “Of you doing something terrible.”
My fingers curl into the sheets, grip tightening as a cold, creeping dread starts crawling up my spine. “No,” I mutter, shaking my head once. “What did I do?”
No one answers right away. And I’m suddenly assuming the fucking worst. Because flashes of unwanted memories crash into my mind.
All of which I want so desperately to fucking forget.
Blood on my hands, what it sounds like to slice through someone’s throat.
Voices and faces I don’t want to hear or see ever again.
“Emma,” I say, forcing the word out. “What did I do?”
This time, she doesn’t hesitate. But she does approach me, cautiously, like she’s approaching a wounded animal that might still bite.
My jaw tightens at that. I don’t blame her, but I hate it anyway.
“I’m going to show you,” she says softly.
Micah is close enough that I know he’s on edge.
My pulse is already starting to climb, something instinctive in me trying to pull back before I even know what I’m about to see.
Maybe I'm fucking scared. Or ashamed that they saw what I've done. “I don’t—” I start, but my voice cuts out.
Because she presses play, and I look at the phone in front of my face.
Grainy footage fills the screen, the lighting dim and sickly under fluorescent bulbs.
It doesn't even take my brain half a second to recognize the room.
And then I see myself. In the mask.
My chest tightens, some sane part of me recoiling so fucking fast. Breathing is suddenly difficult. “Turn it off,” I mutter, knowing exactly what’s about to happen.
But she doesn’t.
“Turn it the fuck off,” I snap, but it’s too late.
“Убийство.”
The word cuts through me, and I snap. My entire body jerks violently, teeth baring before I can control myself. A sharp, guttural sound hisses out of my as my hands fist in the sheets. My sudden movement spooks Emma, and she drops the phone onto the bed in front of me.
“Fuck—” Micah mutters beside me, stepping closer to tug her away by her elbow.
“Jude—” Emma’s voice is right there, but I can’t.
I can’t.
My heart is racing too fast. My vision flickers, tunneling for a second as heat floods my system, like I’m back there, like I’m in it.
Kill.
Kill.
Kill.
The command echoes in my skull, wired too deep inside me that can’t be fucking reached. She’s standing there, too nervous to approach now.
“Fuck,” I choke out.
Because the video keeps playing, and I can’t look away. I watch myself move like a goddamn demon. The man on the ground is trying to crawl away, his shoes scuffing pathetically against the concrete. He’s desperately trying to get away from me.
But I don’t stop. In the video, I grab him, hauling his body up like he’s nothing. And slam him back down. Hard. The sound alone makes my stomach turn. I don’t understand the words coming out of his mouth in the video. But I don’t need to, because I know what pleading for your life sounds like.
“I didn’t—” My voice breaks. “I didn’t have a choice—”
But even as I say it, it doesn’t look that way. It doesn’t look like I’m being forced. It looks like I want to kill him.
Another strike. Another.
Bile burns the back of my throat when my stomach lurches. My hands come up to grip into my hair. But I keep watching, because I know I have to. The mask comes off, and there I am. My face. My eyes…
A broken sound escapes as I stare at myself like I’m looking at a stranger wearing my skin.
“That’s not—” I shake my head harder. “That’s not me.”
But it is. It is.
The final blow lands, and the man stops moving. Then the video finally cuts, and silence crashes into me. I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until my lungs fucking hurt.
“Jude—” Emma starts.
“I killed him.” The words come out flat. My hands drop from my head, falling uselessly into my lap as I stare at the floor. “I killed so many fucking people.”
My chest tightens and cracks open, because it’s not just the act—it’s the brutal way I did it.
“They’re going to think I’m a monster,” I say quietly.
Neither one of them answers me.
“They’re right.” I keep my eyes on the floor, jaw tight, pulse still uncomfortably fast. I can feel Emma there, close enough that it should feel safe.
But it…doesn't. It feels like sitting too close to something I don’t understand anymore, being crushed under the weight of everything I’ve fucking done.
“Jude.” My name is softer this time.
I swallow hard. “Don’t,” I mutter. Because I already know what’s coming. It’s always the same with her.
You’re not a monster. You didn’t mean it. You were forced.
Excuses wrapped in kindness. I don’t want that. I don’t deserve that.
“I’m serious,” I add, my voice rougher now. “Don’t try to make it better.”
“I’m not going to.”
That makes my head lift, but not enough to meet her eyes. My brows pull together. “What?”
“I’m not going to tell you that it didn’t happen,” she says. Her voice is steady. “Or that it’s okay. Because it’s not.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Now you know,” I say, my voice dropping. “You know exactly what I am. What I wanted to protect you from. Where did it fucking get me, huh?”
There’s a pause.