Marcus was always meant to suffer because of his own sick desires. Greg was always meant to die facing the consequences of his actions, whether drinking or sitting idle. And me? I was always meant to be broken by the boy who put me together.
It’s funny how life turns out.
Roman could hurt me a thousand ways, and he wouldn’t need to lay a hand on me; a single word, and I would be done for. The sight of his back as he walks away would be enough, and nothing would put me back together.
All the broken shards that made up my being would catch in the wind, and I’d never be complete. Not that I ever was. But he made me feel like I could have been one day.
Frantic movements pull me from the darkness, and it takes more energy than it should to turn my attention to Marcus, who’s wriggling and shuddering helplessly. I assume he knows how tonight will end.
The last meal he ate will be the overcooked chicken I prepared. The last person to lay their hands onhimwill be who I thought was my other half. But the last face he sees will be mine.
Little Isa.
Pretty Isabella.
Or his personal favorite:fucking slut.
His eyes plead with me as he cries, probably praying I will be the angel sent from above to save him. He’s right about one thing: I am an angel. But I wasn’t sent, I fell. I descended through the sky with burning wings, landing outside Eden in the land writhing with serpents. Because Roman pushed me out.
I don’t realize I’ve started walking until I’m in front of him, slowly tearing the tape so he feels every bit of it.
The second his thin lips are free, he gasps for air like it’s his first time breathing. “Isa, pl—you’ve gotta help me. You’ve gotta—he’s a fucking lunatic.” He blinks fast, swinging his petrified gaze between me, the stairs, and the knife block on the kitchen bench. I keep my eyes on his face, ignoring the blood draining from the hole where his appendage used to be and the liquid clumping in his bloodied chest hair. “There—the knife. Cut—"
“Did I look this pathetic?” I ask, emotionlessly.
Like a child sniffling as the tears mixed with sweat and snot? Was this me? Did I look so deserving of the torment too? Wide, innocent eyes so full of delusion that I thought someone might actually come to save me.
“What are you talking about? Just get the fucking—"
“No.”
Mouth agape, he pauses. “What did you just fuck—"
“Shut the fuck up,” I spit.
His eyes widen, and his face loses its color.
Good. He’s scared. He should be.
“You don’t get to speak to me like that anymore.” My voice shakes as I say it.
There’s something cathartic about seeing him like this, limited by a prison of someone else’s making. I’ve never squirmed away from a little bit of blood—I’ve seen Roman covered in it enough times. This is fucked up beyond comprehension.
Usually, I’d rather walk away than cause someone’s downfall. I wouldn’t call it being the bigger person; I’d just say it’s because I’ve had enough.
He hurt me. He made my life hell. He made me scared in my own home. He made me hate every second of my life.
Now, he’s at my mercy.
My fists tremble, wanting to be unleashed on something—anything. But the thought of touching Marcus again sickens me to my very core. He’s laid his filthy hands on me for years, and I guess life comes full circle; Roman, the man who used to keep Marcus at bay, will be the one who kills him.
I reach for the shelf and grab the first thing I can wrap my fingers around. Then I throw it at him with every bit of force I can muster. One right after the other, I keep throwing everything I can get my hands on. His participation trophies, bolts, tools, photo frames, ornaments, leaving red marks on his skin.
He buckles and screams, but I don’t stop throwing item after item, until I keel over and throw up again from the sight of the blood splashing across the room.
“You’re going to die tonight, you fucking pig,” I spit. “And after everything you did to me, I’m going to enjoy watching.” I take a step forward and point at him with a shaky finger. “You’re a pathetic piece of shit who preys on women, and you’re going to suffer for all the times you’ve assaulted me.”
“Are you seriously mad about that right now?” He swings as he jerks, flapping his feet in a fruitless attempt to reach the ground. “Grow up. Untie me.”
