AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I ripped. I screamed. My heart broke, and the scar on my chest cracked with the tension, bleeding out through my bandages and onto the pink carpet.
A scream woke me from my sleep. I felt for Mercer and the comfort he gave, but he wasn’t there.
I searched the tiny room.
The floor at my side was cold...like me, breaking out in an icy sweat.
In Mercer’s place lay a note.
“Goodbye.” I read it aloud, my nails scratching at the skin on my arm. “No! No! No! Mercer!” The door I screamed at, of course, didn’t answer. I turned to the camera, screaming in its direction. “Where is he? Tell me where he is! We did what you asked!” I didn’t even realize I was scrunching Mercer’s last message to me.
My mind ran wild.
Where is he? Is he okay? Will I ever see him again?
No answers came. No sound. Nothing.
I was alone here with my thoughts and tears. My hand moved, breaking the habit of subconsciously scratching and drifting to my hair.
Remembering all the times Mercer removed my hands, I pulled my fingers from my hair and cried into my hands, holding the message against my skin. I could smell the crayon, the very scent that kissed my skin every time Mercer touched me, and it broke my heart.
I cried. I begged. I pleaded with distorted words even I couldn’t understand...
And I was ignored.
Chapter 9
Feebee
Was it morning?
I hadn’t slept, but it had been hours, the bald spot on the side of my head proved many of them. I’d given into temptation.
A noise lingered near the door, a key unlocking it on the other side.
I pushed myself up, peeling my still-exposed cleavage from the floor. I wasn’t worrying about an infection because death was coming either way.
I forced a button through a small hole in my shirt, needing the extra protection, just in case it was the heart collector who was at the door. It wasn’t. It was the painted-faced men. Today, they were white, blue tears added to their cheeks for dramatics.
They looked...terrifying.
I dragged myself back to the wall, Mercer’s scrunched note still clutched tightly in my grip. I held it like a lifeline like it had some power to protect me. But the truth was, I held it because it was all I had of him.
“Where is...” I stuttered, reminding myself more of Mercer, before trailing off, fearing they would say he was dead.
“Mercer?” the perverted one said, his hungry stare locked on where my hand moved to hold my lapels closed together.
I nodded, needing to know either way, needing to know how horrible my life had become.
But I couldn’t imagine.
Because polished shoes clacked on the hard floor and in walked Mercer. More groomed than I had ever seen him, in a fancy suit to match the others, clean and pressed, like he was ready for a business meeting.
His hair was gelled, looking darker under the light. His scruffy stubble was trimmed to a five o’clock shadow. Those black shoes tapped the concrete as he carried a breakfast tray to me. Pancakes drowned in syrup and juice sat atop. The metal tray reverberated with sound as he placed it on the ground.
I reached for his hand; my sweaty palm was so different from his calm skin. It shocked me, but I didn’t let go. I just stared at our joined hands, and so did he, as if something alien held them together.
“I was worried about you.” The words were a whisper that escaped through an open door, almost unheard while he still hovered on his haunches in front of me.
