Page 26 of Shattered In Darkness

I lean close, mask to her ear. “You’re not going anywhere, Bambi,” I whisper. “You never were.”

Press my bloody fingers between her legs and under her shorts, I spread her open. She’s wet, even in sleep, even after all this. Filthy, beautiful, hypnotic. I slide two fingers into her, twisting, marking her inside and out with my blood.

She whimpers, hips shifting, breath catching. I fuck her with my hand, blood smearing in and out. My own hand is shaking, my cock hard, and my mind is gone.

Memories flash—her laughter, her tears, the look on her face the night we broke, the night Marcus took everything from me and left me hollow.

I want her to wake up with my blood drying between her thighs, my mark on her skin, my scent in her hair. I want her to know she’s never alone, never safe, never free.

I pull my hand out, blood dripping from my fingers. I wipe them across her cheek, her lips, her neck.

“You’re mine,” I whisper again, voice guttural, barely human. “You always will be.”

Sitting on the edge of her bed, I watch her breathe, counting the seconds, the minutes, the hours.

The night is slipping away, and I have to go.

I pull the covers up to her chin, tucking her in like a child, and through the mask, I kiss her forehead, leaving a bloody smear. Slipping

out the window, I drop silent into the grass, and vanish into the dark.

Returning home, I pace in my own room, skin buzzing, blood drying on my hands. I can still smell her. Still taste her. The drugs make the world flicker, burn, dissolve at the edges.

My father’s voice is in every shadow.

Be useful. Be brutal. Don’t feel. Don’t let them win.

But I want to feel. I want to feel everything. I want to drown in it, choke on it, tear it apart with my teeth.

I stare down at the mask lying on the bed. My whole life, I’ve worn masks. Son. Monster. Lover. Killer.

Lola is the only thing that ever made me take one off.

I close my eyes and see her, mouth red with my blood, thighs stained, chest heaving under my mark.

The rage is still there, but under it is something worse—need. Love, maybe. Or the thing that comes after love, when all the light is gone.

I wish she’d wake up, find me here, beg me to stop, beg me to hurt her, beg me to end it. I wish she’d never left. I wish I’d never let her go.

I curl up on the floor, knees to chest, blood drying on my skin, mask pressed to my heart.

She’s mine. Always. Even if I have to kill her to prove it.

She’ll wake up sticky, sore, confused. Maybe she’ll think it’s a dream. Maybe she’ll know it’s a warning. Maybe she’ll finally understand what it means to belong to me.

The sun is rising, a thin blade of light cutting through the gloom. I let it slice me open, let it burn the rot inside.

8

LOLA

The pain refuses to dissipate. It claws at me like a vicious beast, jaws pulsating around my veins. It hurts to smile. It hurts to blink. It hurts to laugh. The ache is gnawing through me; hungry and wild. Bite, bite, bite. It feeds off helplessness. Off memory. Off every failed attempt at being untouchable.

I woke with blood on me. Did I do that? Did Marcus do it? The terror inside of me is an immense thing, eating me from the inside out. I do not remember anything except falling into a deep sleep.

The blood came off easily, staining the white rag to a dark red. I threw the rag away, not wanting any reminder of it. Marcus must have done it, who else would spread blood on me?

My hands shake as I lift the pill bottle and count out three before dry swallowing. I don’t wait for relief. There’s never enough, not for this. It’s not about curing pain, just changing the shape of it.