It takes less than ten minutes to gather the rest of my things, packed in one last smaller bag. My eyes catch on my Bible on my nightstand. The weathered, maroon cover, the thin pages filled with highlights and pen marks, tabs in place for reference.
A book oflies.
And yet, I still grab it anyway, shoving it in the front pocket of my backpack beside my phone charger.
With my keys fisted, I grab all four bags and hobble toward the door, already feeling the strain in my arms. Mom’s eyes shoot wide when she sees me, stepping back. Probably more out of shock than anything else, but I try to ignore it, regardless.
I don’t make it more than three steps down the stairs before she’s trailing me, screeching and screaming. I can’t even make out what she’s saying through the blood rushing in my ears and the curdling in my gut.
My car is a beacon as I hobble down the stairs, focusing onnot slipping and breaking my neck—which seems entirely plausible. God has an ironic way of punishing those he deems have wronged him, and I’m sure me turning my back would constitute as such.
When I reach the foyer, my gaze catches Roman’s, the butler, where he stands near the front door. His old eyes are crinkled at the corners. They seem a bit sad but a bit proud—or at least, that’s what I hope. I offer a weak smile in apology, which he returns with a silent nod of his head, and then, he holds the door open for me…At least one person wants me to go.
The acceptance of that is enough to fuel me the rest of the way as I step onto the concrete steps. The air is humid and stifling as I breathe it in, feeling too queasy for much else. Gravel dust plumes upward as I drop my bags at my feet to open the trunk. I keep my eyes downcast as I arrange them, keeping my backpack on my shoulders.
I round the car and open the driver’s side door, hesitating for a moment. I know I shouldn’t look, but I do anyway.
Mom’s standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face is twisted in a fit of rage—silent for once. Roman’s at her back, hands clasped in front of himself, but with my mother’s back turned, he allows his smile to be shown—just for me.
I try not to cry as I look at the house, theestate,I grew up in—an expensive house far too big for just the three of us, the large garden I loved to spend most of my time in on the left, the garage housing multiple cars to the right.
So much green but so littlecolor.
“I’m sorry,” I say just loud enough to be heard.
“You will loseeverything,Madison.”
I swallow through the closure in my throat and force a slow breath through the weight pressed against my chest. “I know.”
“What will you do without our help?” she sneers.
“Survive, I suppose.”
And then, I drop into my seat, take another breath, albeit just as hard, and pull around the circular drive just as Father pulls in. He slams on his breaks, sending dust billowing upward. I lift my hand in a small wave, face pinched tight as I say goodbye to him and leave the only world I’ve ever known behind.
Chapter Two
Just As Sick
Cedrick
“You’re a sick fuck.”
“Mhm,” I murmur as I smear white paint across my forehead, holding my hair out of the way of the brush. “So are you.”
“Well, yeah.” Kian waggles his brows. “But you’d piss on someone?”
I lift a brow as I glance at him through the mirror we share. “On them, in them.” No point in arguing that. Everyone in this roomdoesknow what a sick fuck I am, but probably nothowmuch of one…
He shakes his head. “Crazy, dude. Crazy.”
“It’s not your kink, so ‘course you wouldn’t.” I click my tongue. “But you’re missin’ out,” I drawl.
“I would,” Wesley pipes in, making everyone roll their eyes.
“Yes.We know,” we all say in unison.
“Fuck off,” he mutters, feigning indignance as he pops his contacts in his eyes, but we all see his smirk.
