“I think,” Melissa whispers, rising on her toes, wine-stained lips parting, “Maybe…”
She tries to kiss me.
I’ve expected it all night. But in this moment, I can’t imagine anything worse.
I turn my head at the last second, and her mouth catches my jaw instead.
Bad Wolf growls. Long, low, hard. “Get it away from us.”
She reeks of wine and breath mints.
Her lips are wet and clumsy.
And the giggle she lets out is so desperate and fake, it makes me want to snap her neck.
Even when I slide a hand around her hip and close my eyes andtryto fucking pretend that this is what I want, what I need—what I fuckingdeserveafter those two foolish children ran from me with their tails between their legs—eventhen,I feel nothing but disgust.
It’s no surprise I shove her away from me hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor.
“Yes,”Bad Wolf snaps.“Away, away!”
Good Wolf has fallen silent.
Melissa rolls onto her back, staring at me with a deep frown.
“Wh-why did you…?” She brings a hand to her head, touching the spot of blood welling up where her temple grazed the side of the fireplace.
A few inches to the right, I’d already be fetching the peroxide from under the sink.
“You fell, Melissa.” My voice sounds disembodied, floating somewhere behind me as I walk up to her. “That’s what happens when you guzzle wine like a greedy little cunt.”
“Wh—but—” Her lips are trembling, eyes filling with scared, confused tears.
I love it when they cry.
Love it when pleasure mingles with pain until there’s nothing left but horror and fear.
Loved it.
Past tense.
I flick her hair from her face with my finger. “Get up.”
Her confusion deepens, but somewhere inside her head, alarm bells are clanging. She groans with effort as she tips herself onto her stomach and tries to crawl away from me. Either the ketamine or the liquid ecstasy has her reeling.
I draw in a long, slow breath. Watching her escape is like watching my windshield wipers smear a bug across the glass.
“That’s it,” I say as she gets her elbows under her. “You can do it, girl. I believe in you.”
She giggles, chokes, sobs. If she’s feeling the same now as I did when I tried pink cocaine, she’s inside a washing machine right now. Up, down, drowning, giddy, frothing.
Utter. Fucking. Chaos.
For the first time in my fucking life, the thought of what comes next turns my stomach.
Maybe Ishouldfinish her wine. At least that way I’d be enjoying myself.
But even the thought of chemical oblivion does nothing for me.
