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Jen laughs. “That’s a really good joke, Kayla.”
Fuck my life she reeks of Eau de Desperation. Why is she trying so hard?
I choose to ignore her. “Jesus, how long have you all been here?”
“It varies,” Honey Monster replies with an easy-going shrug. “Five minutes, to several decades.”
No one – even Daddy Hatchet – looks old enough to have been herethatlong.
Jen claps her hands together and smiles brightly at all of us. I don’t even think it’s fake. She seems like a genuinely happy, preppy person. I bet she doesn’t even drink coffee. Sheneedsto die.
“As we’re about done here, why don’t you guys take Kayla to the canteen and help her settle in, and I’ll see you all tomorrow with Danny for art therapy.”
Art. Fucking. Therapy.
What the actual fuck? I have to paint my feelings? Fuck no with bells on. I’d rather get an ashiatsu massage from a sumo wrestler wearing snow shoes.
“Can’t wait,” I deadpan.
Kill. Me. Now.
GOOGLE CONSENSUAL NON-CONSENT. YOU’RE WELCOME
‘WARNING’ – CRIMSON APPLE
KOOKABURRA
Before I get to my feet, I wait for the others to stand and shuffle into some sort of order, then trail along after them. With no fucking clue where I’m going, I follow along like a sheep. Baa fucking baa. I’m clearly the black sheep of this happy little family.
I almost miss Rat sliding into line behind me, but his stench gives him away. I recoil, trying to hold my breath because he smells like dead things, and take it from me, as someone who revels in all things blood, gore and death, Idon’tmean that in a good way.
My body tenses, coiled for an attack just due to his proximity. There’s something about him that sets me on edge. I don’t know if I should believe Satan when she says this place is full of surveillance, and therefore I’m protected from him trying anything, or whether to trust that I’m caged with a bunch of monsters who will always revert to type when challenged.
And my being hereisa challenge. They just don’t know it yet.
When Rat reaches out to touch my hair I’m unsurprised.Reverting to type are we then? Bring it!I’m hyper aware of him and his greasy fingers. Yellowed nails like fucking talons too. Ugh. That’s just gross. Especially on a guy. Why on earth would they want long nails like that? And why are his so discoloured? They remind me of decay in the worst possible way. I shudder internally.
Before he can touch me again, I spin, grab his finger and bend it back until it makes an audible snap. He squeals. All high pitched and rodent-like.Jeez, if ever a nickname fitted perfectly…
His rancid breath in my face makes me gag and want to heave, but instead, I punch him on the nose to make him step back. He staggers away from me as his nose gushes with blood.
Not my favourite orifice to watch someone bleed from, but hey, blood is blood and I’ll take it. Any pain inflicted is a win in my books.
Warm satisfaction blooms in my chest at the pain on his face, the shock in his eyes.
“Oh my, what’s happening here?” Jen asks brightly, rounding the corner with a smile that seems to be straining at the edges. If possible, Rat shrinks even further away from me at her sudden appearance. Why is he more scared of her than me? Doesn’t he know I’m a killer? What’s she going to do, smile him to death?
“She broke my finger!” he cries, clutching his broken hand to his chest. Well, I think that’s what he says. It kinda comes out muffled because of the broken nose and blood pissing into his mouth. He uses his good hand to pinch his nose in an attempt to stem the bleeding, and it makes me smile with pride.Yeah I did.
Barely even a split second of contact, and I’ve shown him what I can do.Don’t fuck with me.He’s lucky he only touched my hair, otherwise he wouldn’t be breathing.
“He touched me,” I counter, by way of explanation. Not that I feel the need to explain myself or apologise – it would be hypocritical if I did – but it’s important to keep up appearances.I’m here to reform, teach me how to be good, I’m so sorry, I promise it’ll never happen again.
I almost snort out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. I couldn’t maintain that ruse for a minute if I had to say that shit out loud.
“Umm, Kayla…” Jen’s smile is still in place but it’s definitely taken on a frozen, brittle quality. “We don’t physically attack our resident…mates here.”
“He’s not my mate.” I frown. Does she mean residentmateslike one would mean inmates or more like camp mates? She’s deluded enough to be alluding to the latter I think. I hold back a snort. Like we’re all happy campers here.
