“You did, kid. In one of your repressive states.”
“Is that a new term?” Hell questioned with an eyebrow raised.
“The little one,” Ville corrected himself.
“He already told me.”
Woody had told him, through the diary. Told him everything. Hell wouldn't fall for the manipulation as easily as Woody did. The look on his face—all serious and questioning—told Ville and me that he already suspected the truth.
“Getthe fuck out.”
“Son. . . I—”
“Your son isn’t here. Don't pretend you see me that way, or I'll gut you right now.” Hell’s cunning smile was present again, making him look like the hot psycho killer from my favorite horror movie. “Out.”
Ville didn't move, his bulging, bloodshot eyes, brought by another night of alcohol abuse, pleading.
“What did you do to my doll?” he asked, seeing as Ville didn't move. “Two seconds.” Hell was giving him only two seconds to respond.
“I told you; I didn't scar her.”
“No. . . the little one has his own stash of battery acid,” Hell mocked with false amusement.
“If the scars bother you, I can get you another girl. She's replaceable.”
My chest strained, nostrils flaring. The air in the room finding my lungs inhospitable.
I stared up at Hell, and he spoke the words I needed to hear, in order to release a breath.
“Not to me.”
Hell would protect me. . . for Woodrow. And that gifted me the smallest peace.
Taking in all Hell said, Ville got to his feet, pulling me from the ground to use as a skin shield.
I held back my agony as some of my weight shifted to my broken knee.
“I didn't hurt her. Woody got his hands on some stuff he shouldn't have. He tried to bath her because she was dirty. I've been bringing her food. He—” Ville's head bobbed in the direction of a lifeless Sylvia. “He came to see if I had another girl for him, and Jolie hadn't been moving today. I thought she was gone. When I saw her fight back, I tried to help her. To comfort her,” he lied as he brushed my hair with his rough fingers again, and it made me feel sick. I retched, but baby aside, my stomach was empty. Nothing splattered the floor.
“She wasn’t meant to be dinner for your cannibalistic cunt friends.” Hell leaned in, the blade pricking at Ville’s throat.
“She wasn't meant to be Sylvia’s, at all. Ever. She was always yours. Always. I was training her for you. She'll listen to you now.Anything you say.”
Ville wasn't wrong, and my face proved that.
Silver eyes probed me, and I let mine reply, remaining silent.
“Step the fuck out,” Hell told his father, the blade drifting from his skin only millimeters.
“Son, do you understand what I'm—”
“I understand what you're saying.” Hell dropped to the ground, his blank expression directed at me, because Ville was no concern to him. “I just have no interest in listening to your voice. Step. The. Fuck. Out.”
Hell used the blade to flick the hair from my face and examine my distorted features, and I shielded away when his face contorted with something close to repulsion.
Ville’s unlaced boots on his feet carried him away, and I slumped back to the ground. He sealed the door shut. The sound of the lock clicking into place trapped Hell down here. All light disappeared, and my fuzzy acid-stained vision made it harder to see the white of Hell’s eyes and teeth.
“He hurt me.”
