Page 121

I send the last message and push the wolf mask on top of my head to get a good look at Anna’s abuser. His sack, or what remains of it, more closely resembles a clump of rancid hamburger meat, bloody with some areas browner than others. However, it’s not the visual that has my stomach turning, it’s the smell.

The putrid burning flesh mixes with burnt pubic hair and the smell of . . . I clock the brown sludge running down the back of his legs.

“Great, he shit himself.”

The smell takes on a life of its own; it seems to grow. Blossom, even. It hits the back of my throat and I swear it has a weight to it.

Well, this is worse than I expected.

My phone buzzes again.

Anna

Wanna come fold me instead?

I retch. I can’t even think about that while I’m being surrounded by the worst odor imaginable.

I wish. Unfortunately, I’m dealing with a stubborn stain.

Anna

What’s it from?

All I wanted to do was have some poetic ending, but now everything smells like blood and shit and burning flesh and hair. I scan the walls for the fan, then spin the dial on the timer, firing it up. For a brief moment, I stand taller, proud of myself for fixing the problem.

However, I am quickly reminded that I’m six foot seven in an eight-foot room and now I’ve effectively trapped myself in a cloud of stink. I slap the wall, desperate to make it stop, but the stupid plastic dial breaks, bouncing off the wall and landing in the scrotum slushie.

Nope. It lives there now.

“Dear God, I’ve made it worse.”

I fear I may have made a dire miscalculation on how I saw this all going. I have to step out of the room, to where the air is marginally better, but since I decided to pull off the door earlier, I can no longer contain the stench that continues to spread and mature thanks to the fucking HVAC.

“You just had to have the pageantry, didn’t you?” I mutter, glancing around for a solution on how to fix this. It’s not a mistake, it’s a situation. I roll my shoulders back and hold my breath to step back into the bathroom. Immediate regret.

“Mmm—nope. Yeah, it’s bad. It’s still bad.”

Honestly, no idea. But it’s an obstinate fucker, that’s for sure.

Anna

Have you tried cold water?

Nope, I’ll try that.

Anna

Sometimes heat can make it worse.

Yeah, no shit.

And I told the owners I wouldn’t leave a bad smell this time! I run out of the room and crack open the motel door, then the window, grabbing the floral comforter off the bed and fanning it like I’m fighting a house fire. Truthfully, I’m starting to believe that’s the only thing that might end this misery.

Sweat is dripping down my face when my phone vibrates again.

“Kinda dealing with something, Duchess . . .” I say, still attempting to fan the malodor that now permeates every cubic foot of air in here.

The iron! I need to turn off the iron! It’s basically a hot plate for his insides.