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I might want to rule her, but I wanted her to rule me right back. I wanted her to leash the despicable darkness inside me by being stubborn and brave and wonderfully unafraid.
And then I’d do my best to make her cry—
Ah, Jesus Christ.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I rested my elbows on my knees and looked away.
Had the cufflinks managed to alert my brother yet?
Was he coming, or did I need to throw them farther than just over the wall?
Maybe I should retrieve them and find a way to strap them to the leg of one of the pigeons that roosted on the carved gargoyles outside our bedroom. They could fly above the net of no internet and send an SOS because I couldn’t exist this way much longer.
And I couldn’t die until Ily was safe.
If you’re coming, brother, you need to hurry.
Squeezing my skull, I shook as the urge to crack open my brain and systematically slice out all the pieces of my past became overwhelming.
“Henri…” Ily’s fragile hand landed on my thigh. “Are you…do you have a headache? I can get you something—”
“You’re asking me if I’m unwell?” I dropped my hands and caught her worried stare.
Biting her lip, she pulled her hand back. “Yes, well, you look like death warmed over.”
I flinched at that word.
Was it normal for someone to crave such a thing? To long for death like one longed for a good night’s sleep or a holiday? The peace that would come from being free of this body, this mind, this soul. I just wanted to dissolve into the darkness and be done with it.
A slithery, sinning part of me wrapped around my voice box. I sounded flippant and cruel when every damn molecule begged for help. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
God, what would I give to just talk to her. To blurt it all out there. Probably sob like a pussy as I recounted why I was the way I was and that there was no cure.
I’d hoped she was my cure.
That the moment I understood what the scratchy, searing mess in my heart meant that I’d be miraculously freed from this black-tinged disease.
But no.
I still wanted to hurt her despite my despair.
I still wanted her blood on my tongue regardless of my nightmares from my father doing the same damn thing to countless screaming, sobbing women.
I wasn’t just fucked up.
There wasn’t a word for what I was.
I needed to be exterminated before it was too late.
Reclining against the settee, I sucked in air. I still tasted the toxic terror from the new jewels. Fresh marks glowing on previously un-scarred skin—faces that couldn’t quite believe what’d happened, quickly shutting down to become empty shells.
An image of Ily breaking that way haunted me.
None of the other jewels made eye contact with me. Not even Rachel or Mollie.
Peter dared look at me, but his stare reeked of judgement and something I couldn’t quite decipher.
