If I didn’t kill Asher.
If I didn’t open my fucking legs.
If I didn’t need attention.
If I stayed fucking home every time he asked to go to the park or watch a movie.
So many opportunities for me to make sure he was safe. Instead, I’ve ruined us both.
“I need more,” I beg like I never have before. “Just one. Please. One more vial.”
Let me be crazy again. I don’t want to be haunted by all of my mistakes. I want to leave them all here, in this world full of pain while I get to be happy somewhere else.
But I’m not allowed as the lights cut out.
I wait for the click of the box releasing, then the restraints unlocking as I lay there, staring into the dark. Everything is heavier as I slide out from the box, my body, my head, my limbs, my heart. It’s all too much to carry. I have to keep the goal of a vial in the forefront of my mind to push one foot in front of the other, ready to run away from him.
The blacklights show how disgusting I am as the door slides open, revealing the room is empty. I try to avoid them like I usually do as I turn to walk back to my dorm. Little letters and purposeful shapes are in my periphery. The start of a K, the point of an A and N, the flat top of an E surrounded by drips and hearts.
I slow, watching his name reappear with each step. When I reach the door covering the staircase, I take one of the robes from the hooks, quickly wrapping it around me to hide his name. The door slides open as Jasper gives me a small smile, gesturing for me to follow him. Softening his voice, he says, “I’ll show you the showers.”
65
KANE
The box muted her screams, but it didn’t diminish her loathing. She hates me, wishes I was dead.“I told you,”Asher unhelpfully offers as we rock on the boat taking us back to the drop-off point. I was pulled out of the mirrored room when my brain couldn’t focus on anything other than the disgust in her voice.“She knows what you’ve done. Do you think they wouldn’t tell her?”
I need him to shut the fuck up.
“They recorded everything in The Dollhouse, so she watched her precious Kane shove his pathetic cock inside a rotting pussy, or an ass leaking shit and stomach acid.”
I close my eyes beneath the hood covering my head, trying to block him out. But he gets louder, angry at being ignored.
“Why would she want you? Didn’t I tell you she’ll hate you, be repulsed at what she made you into? And didn’t I tell you, reflection, she’d hate you more than she hates me?”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I stand, breathing ragged, sight obstructed, with my fists clenched like I can kill the voice in my head.
“Sit. Down,” someone barks.
The wind rocks the boat, plastering the hood to my mask as heavy booted steps storm towards me. I fucking smile as a gun clicks, because death will be better than my wife hating me.
I take my last breath, savoring the memories of how she’d watch the stars. It’s fitting I’m going to die in the dark without her; with the hood it’s like a starless sky. At least I kept my word—I’ll die as her husband.
I’ve imagined my death multiple times. Knife, drowning, pills, car crash. I never thought of using a gun because a hopeful part of me always thought Delilah would claim my body. She’d stand over my grave as I was lowered like she did with Asher, and I’d have someone who loved me as I was put to rest. I didn’t want the image of me with half of my face missing to scare her. Now, as I stand in front of the barrel of a gun with the knowledge of her hate, I know I won’t have that. I’ll die alone, be buried alone, and rot alone.
The other part of my soul won’t feel anything other than relief at my death.
There’s no reel playing my memories, only a voice repeating all of my mistakes.
“You hurt her. Chased her. Scared her. Then you left her after promising you wouldn’t. Now, three years later, she has scars on her leg, pain in her heart, and no love for you.”
I tip my head back towards the sky, whispering to the stars, “I love you, my pretty girl. Be happy. I’ll watch you like I always have.”
The wind whistles in sharp bursts around me, followed by something warm hitting my chest, soaking through my shirt. Six heavy thuds rock the boat, water splashing as I turn with my bound hands assessing the damage to my body. There’s no hole or pain, but warmth surrounds me, blocking the wind.
A feminine voice says, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Kobalt.” I open my mouth to ask who the fuck she isas something sharp digs into my outer thigh. My head sways, stomach churning with the boat speeding up, and she adds, “Enjoy your journey.”
The force of us moving through the water combined with whatever drugs are working through my blood make me fall backwards. Arms, four of them, catch me. They don’t move their hands away from my biceps as they sit me on the cushioned seating.
