I know. We weren’t supposed to say that, right? We were supposed to put on a brave face. Make everyone around us feelmore comfortable. Adapt to the world because it sure as hell wasn’t gonna adapt to us. Especially when the fact your body was broken was invisible to the naked eye. You lookednormal. So you were expected to act normal too. Not complain.
I tried my best. I worked harder. Smiled wider. Faked energy that didn’t exist. But inside, I was tired. I wanted to sneak a sip of one of Gabby’s juices. I wanted to know what it was like to wake up fully rested. But I couldn’t and I didn’t.
My entire life revolved around what I ate, when and how I took my meds, monitoring my stress levels, and making sure my body and brain didn’t give out on me.
This wasn’t a pity party. Fuck your pity. You could shove that where the sun don’t shine.I had no problem bending ya over and offering a swift kick to help you do it either. It was an explanation.
The point was, I was used to having to work harder to just match my target step for step. Tonight, I had a leg up.
I’d kept one eye on the faded clock on the wall behind the fucker’s head and the other on his mouth and the smirk he was doing shit to hold back. He had been so sure of himself. So certain he’d gotten one over on me. Even though I’d spotted what he was doing the moment his slimy, tattooed arm slinked around my shoulder. What he didn’t know was that the GHB didn’t affect me. Not like anormalperson. Because my brain wasn’t normal, remember? I’d built a tolerance over the years.
Like most of us girls, though, I could fake it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BELLATRIX
There were two things I learned about my target over the last few minutes. One: he was able to find his way to an empty bedroom a lot quicker than he was able to find the clit. And two: his dick tasted like ass.
Okay, I was lying about that last bit. It tasted like soap and shaving cream from all that unnecessary manscaping. But I was feeling petty, and a petty bitch was dangerous when she was so close to your favorite parts.
I took a deep breath and a deeper gulp of cock as I swallowed him down to the base, the front sight of the revolver pressing into my temple with the full weight of his arm. He could shoot me, but he’d risk shooting his dick off too. Or, at the very least, me taking it with me in a death clench.
Something told me he wasn’t about to risk either. So really, this was the safest place for both of us.
I pulled back, twirling my tongue around the ring at the top a few times. Repeating the rhythm—bob, twirl, flick—until I felt the barrel dip to the side. Then I clamped down on the cock ringwith my teeth and yanked back, the little flap of foreskin it was attached to coming with me in one quick tug.
Blood dribbled down my chin and onto the floor as I rolled to the side and reached for the gun. The fact he wasn’t screaming was good. Meant no one was rushing up the stairs to see what was going on. It was also bizarre.
Not nearly as bizarre as the grin he gave me when my palm wrapped around the top of the barrel and twisted. The movement should have been enough to force his wrist into an odd angle that had his grip loosening. Instead, he continued to watch my face, his dick leaking down his leg and his arm cranking and popping before the bone dislocated, causing muscle failure.
The gun dropped to the floor. I went to jump for it, and he slammed me down onto the bed. His knee leaning into the pressure point in my left thigh, and gravity locking both of my wrists above my head with the help of his dislocated arm while the other directed his cock between my legs.
A quick thrust of his hips, and the sick bastard was fucking me into the mattress. His blood painting my skin red as he pulled out and dragged his severed tip along my thighs. I met him pound for pound. Drive for drive. I enjoyed the rush, the flood of endorphins, the burn. I’d grown to crave the danger. At first, it was the only thing that helped me stay awake. Now I was addicted to it.Not him.
Fucker was just a vessel, a way to clear the brain fog. And by the time we were both headed towards the peak of climax, I was shoving him onto his back. Grinding his cock against my insides and reaching for the extra shot of insulin I kept tucked into my sleeve in case my pump gave out. Sliding the syringe into my hand and jabbing it into his thigh when I leaned back to get a deeper angle.
He knocked the insulin out of my grip before I could give him the full dose. “You can’t kill me, myshka.” He grinned. “Nine lives.”
“Watch me,” I grunted, swiping up the pillow beside us. Fifteen more minutes of me holding it over his head while the drugs took effect and the fucker passed out.
I am not ashamed to admit I continued to ride him through it. Hitting that point of no return at the exact moment he stopped struggling.
CHAPTER NINE
CASPER: AGE 11 YEARS, 1 MONTH
White was the first thing I remembered seeing when I woke up, but not a clean white. More like dirty snow. Where your eyes told ya something was supposed to be white underneath whatever was happening on top. Speckled white.Graywhite.
It was different from the sterile white I was used to. There was nothing sterile about this place.
I liked that. The change of scenery was nice. There were only so many people you could fuck with before word started to get around. A new hospital meant new faces. Friendly or not had yet to be determined, but mean would do just fine too.
The mean ones were fun to break. Always took it much harder. Like the games were personal. They weren’t. Not for them. They were personal for me. Because they werepersonallyentertaining.
The nurse with the strawberry-blonde hair (why they called it that couldn’t tell ya; wasn’t the color of any strawberry I’d ever seen) busied herself next to my hospital bed. Boopin’ all thebuttons and adjusting a bunch of wires I planned on tugging out anyway, before a chick in a lab coat walked in behind her.
The nurse startled and I grinned.A lady doctor.That was definitely different. Didn’t get the chance to see many of those.
