Page 35 of Past

This was it. The high. The rush. The beast inside me clawing its way free.

And in the back of my mind, just beneath the chaos, Amelia’s face lingered. Her voice, her fuckingpull, wrapping around my throat. Evenhere, evennow, she wouldn’t let me go.

Without hesitation, I swung my fist, driving it into his jaw with a sickening crack. Once. Twice. Three times. Each blow came harder than the last, bones crunching beneath my knuckles, his face collapsing into a swollen, bloody ruin. The bastard didn’t evenscreamby the end—he just sagged, limp and useless, like a broken marionette. And fuck, therushhit me like a freight train. That deep, snarlingsatisfactiontore through me, hot and raw, lighting up every nerve in my body.

Claire stood back, silent, her face unreadable but her eyes sharp. She didn’t flinch when I delivered the final blow—a wet, hollow thud that echoed in the stillness. When it was done, I wiped my hands on his shirt, leaving him sprawled on the floor, lifeless and pitiful. The silence wrapped around us again, thick and suffocating, but I didn’t mind. I liked it. It felt…right.

Maybe he was innocent. Hell, maybe he had a family or some shitty sob story. I don’t fucking know. I don’t fuckingcare.Remorse?Regret? People always talk about that weight, that crushing guilt that keeps them up at night. Me? I sleep like afucking baby. There’s no burden, no invisible chain dragging me down. Just the high—the sharp, electricthrillof watching life slip out of someone’s eyes, of knowing they’re mine in that final moment.

When I was thirteen, they tried to pin labels on me. ‘Antisocial personality disorder,’ ‘sociopathy,’ all those clinical buzzwords that made them feel smart. Like I was a goddamn puzzle they could solve. But it wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t some deep mystery. I did what felt right.Natural.

The first time was a classmate. Some smug little shit with a slurp thatgratedon my nerves like sandpaper. Every obnoxious scrape of his spoon across his teeth was a countdown. By the time he started sucking air through his soup, my patience snapped like a frayed wire. I didn’t think. I just moved.

I was behind him before I knew it, grabbing a fistful of his hair, slamming his face into the table with a force that sent ashiverdown my spine. The first hit was loud—wood meeting bone. The second sent a spray of blood from his nose. The third? That was the one that made him stop squirming, left him slumped and glassy-eyed in a pool of his own mess.

Ittook three teachers to drag me off him, screaming like they’d seen the fuckingdevil. Maybe they had. They looked at me like I wasn’t human, and maybe they were right. That’s when the therapy started. Weeks of bullshit questions from tight-lipped shrinks who thought they couldfixme. They prodded at my past, my parents, my life, like they were searching for some buried trauma that could explain why I was so…wrong.

But there was nothing to find. Just me.This. I tried to explain it once, but they didn’t want to hear it. I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t sick. I wasfree. I didn’t have the chains that weighed everyone else down. No guilt, no hesitation. Justclarity. People weren’t people to me. They were pieces on a board, things to be manipulated, removed, destroyed.

That first time, with the slurping idiot? That was when I felt it—thehigh. That rush of power, pure and unfiltered, like a drug burning through my veins. Every time after that, it got easier, smoother,better. Like sharpening a blade with each cut.

Tonight was no different. As Claire and I stepped out into the cool night, the blood still drying on my knuckles, I caught her glance. Sheknew. She always knew. She didn’t need to sayanything; the thrill was mutual, a language we both understood. But even as the buzz coursed through me, I knew where I was headed next.

Millie. Sweet, fucked-up Millie. Therealthrill,theultimateobsession. No matter how many faces I broke or lives I took, she was the fire I couldn’t put out. My chaos, my weakness, my addiction. And fuck if I didn’t love it.

BREAKING THE RULES

Amelia

I stood in front of Emily’s mirror, adjusting the laces on the corset of my costume. It was Halloween, a night when masks became the norm, and everyone embraced their hidden selves. This year, I’d chosen something that felt strangely fitting, a dark twist on a classic look.

The outfit was inspired by a Victorian ghost—part haunted, part alluring. The corset was a masterpiece of black lace, cinching my waist like a whispered secret, its intricate patterns weaving a tale of seduction and shadow over my skin. From my hips, black tulle spilled like dark smoke, billowing in ghostly waves. The edges were torn and frayed, as though the dress had been dragged through the depths of some forsaken graveyard. The floor-length hem trailed behind me with an air of hauntingelegance, but a bold, jagged slit sliced up the side, revealing just enough skin to hint at danger—a siren’s call in the darkness.

My makeup was as dramatic as the outfit—pale foundation that made my skin look almost porcelain, with dark eyeshadow that framed my eyes in shadows, giving them an intense, hollow look. A smear of deep red lipstick completed the look, making me appear as though I’d just sipped from a glass of forbidden wine, or something darker.

To complete the costume, I wore a lace choker around my neck, adorned with a tiny silver pendant that rested against my skin like a cold reminder. I’d pulled my hair back, pinning it loosely so tendrils escaped, framing my face in wisps that added to the haunted allure. The overall effect was…intoxicating. Looking at myself, I almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

Emily, who was fixing her own costume behind me, let out a low whistle. “You look incredible, Amelia. Like someone straight out of a gothic novel. Mysterious, dark… and a little dangerous.” She winked at me through the mirror.

I forced a smile, but my mind was somewhere else. As I traced my fingers over the lace and caught the faint glimmer of candlelight on my pale skin, I felt that familiar unease coil in my stomach. This wasn’t just a costume; it felt like a mask for something deeper, something I’d been carrying around for longer than I cared to admit.

Emily and I stepped out into the cool night air, my heels clicking softly on the pavement as we waited for our ride. The Uber pulled up a few minutes later, and we slid into the back seat, greeted by the faint hum of music and the soft glow from the streetlights outside.

Emily leaned over, nudging me playfully. “Tonight, we’re letting go,” she declared with a grin. “No thinking about work, no stressing over anything. Just drinks, dancing, and forgetting the world even exists.”

The driver glanced back, briefly taking in our costumes. “Big plans tonight?” he asked, his voice polite.

Emily giggled, flashing him a mischievous smile. “Oh, you know, just the usual Halloween madness. Probably won’t evenremember half the night.” She shot me a look, raising her eyebrows as if to say, Isn’t that right?

I forced a smile, nodding. The truth was, I felt more tense than ever, like something dark was lurking just at the edge of my vision. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. But I pushed the thought aside. Tonight was about escape, aboutforgetting.

As the city lights blurred past, Emily was already talking about our plans, about the costume contest she was determined to win and all the terrible, sugary cocktails we’d try. I leaned my head against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment, letting her voice fade into a hum. I was determined to drown my anxieties in laughter and drinks tonight, to feel free, if only for a few hours. I deserved that, didn’t I?

When we finally arrived, the venue was alive with music and laughter, decorations casting strange shadows over everyone. Emily grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the entrance. “Come on, Amelia! Let’s make this night unforgettable,” she shouted over the music, her voice filled with excitement.

Emily and I weaved through the crowd, making our way to the bar, where flashing neon lights glinted off bottles of every color. The energy of the place was contagious, a feverish mix of laughter, music, and dark, theatrical costumes. Emily ordered us two shots, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she handed me mine.

“To tonight!” she shouted, raising her glass. “To losing ourselves and forgetting everything else.”