I chuckle, knowing that Doll is asking because the woman is walking on four limbs as the animals I showed her before.
“Yeah, my doll. Animal.”
The woman reaches with her hand barely grazing the Nocta. I step onto it as the glass breaks and the liquid spreads underneath my shoes.
“No!”
Letting Doll walk ahead as I follow her, ignoring the woman pleading.
She scoffed at Doll when she asked an obvious question, now who's pathetic?
I put the clothes at the backseat and help Doll get inside as we drive off.
“Did you have fun?” I ask as I have one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick. Checking the mirror to make sure no one is daring to follow us.
“Yes, I want to go outside again”
Yeah, that won’t happen for a long time.
Chapter Eleven
The past
Clayton
The sound of glass shattering echoes downstairs as I sit on the ground, my back against the wooden door of the attic. My parents have been going at it for a few hours, probably over a cigar. I fidget my fingers, counting each swirl on my skin. This has been my life for 15 years, constant drugs smoking around the house, dust littering in the miserable attic I sleep in, women and men sleeping on the couch or mattress wasted after the corrupted nights, parents screaming in each other’s faces. The last time I ever let myself feel any emotions or that I’m alive in this hellhole is when I was five. I have lived everyday, surviving on the creaking floor, cooking the packed soup that I can’t stomach anymore. The hatred keeps firing up in my veins at every breath my parents take freely. At night I fantasize how their lungs soon will crush and filth would eat away their bones, their cold hearts stop.
It’s the only way I find peace in my mind to sleep.
“I didn’t take the fucking cocaine, you asshole!”
Slap.
“Don’t touch me!”
Slap.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want, when you’re such a greedy slut.”
Thud.
“I saw the wads of cash you have hidden under the mattress, now you’re taking the tips of the strip club for yourself?!”
“It’s none of your fucking business!”
I sigh long, until all the air empties in my lungs. I have searched for any files about my parents family, any information that they were abused, any reason for their misery.
Anything.
None.
My lips perk up as the sound of slapping intensifies, leaning my head back on the door. Maybe they will kill each other and spare me the headache. The world framed bad people always have a reason that changed their hearts, that humans weren’t created evil by nature.
Wrong.
Humans are created with basic instincts, they’re made to survive in their circumstances. While we develop, the need for violence should be close to none. There is no urge to kill each other for the deer, marking their territories. But humans love to complicate their lives, creating competition out of anything.
Who builds the tallest tower?
