What the fuck?
What. The. Fuck?
The dam of tears finally breaks. I’m crying, soaking my cheeks and Knox’s mask.
They drip down my shirt, that’s how much I cry.
Finally, the shitshow ends. Jett’s still cutting her when the light goes out in her eyes. Just as I predicted, Bronwyn is gone before that monster, Jett, can get his fill.
Am I really thankful, though? For anything? For even breathing?
No. No, I’m not.
I’m horrified. Traumatized. Wounded as if I’ve claimed some of Bronwyn’s pain to myself.
My sanity has been stripped clean from me.
Nothing could put me back together again, ever.
Sadly, I can’t afford to faint. If I lose consciousness, it’s game over. I’m going to die here in this basement, with my teeth removed and my gums sliced open.
I’m hyperventilating.
The world is spinning.
I’m slipping.
I’m spiraling.
Help.
I love you, Mom and Dad.
Knox, I love you too.
“Now that we’re done here,”—Knox doesn’t waste a second, slinging me over his shoulder—“I’m gonna go feed my living-hide.”
Somewhere in the background, his dad says proudly, “Good job, you’ve passed the test, Son.”
I want to bask in our victory.
Instead, I black out.
26
KNOX
Keeping to myself has always been a part of who I am.
Filling the air with noise, like Jett does, is a waste of breath. Dangerous, too.
When you don’t stop talking, you don’t have a chance to slow down.
To stay vigilant.
To focus on your rituals and never mess up.
But back there, in the basement, staying silent was a necessity too. And fucking unbearable.
