Page 67 of Slaughter

He sets his phone down, and I see him look at my plate out of the corner of my eye. I haven’t eaten much of my breakfast. I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

“Bunny …?”

“May I be excused?” I ask, interrupting him and hating that I have to fucking ask for permission like a child.

I place my fork on the table and stare at him expectantly. He goes to open his mouth but isn’t given the chance to speak.

“Sir?” Kayn enters the formal dining room.

I spin my head in the opposite direction to look at him. He crosses his arms over his massive chest and pulls back his shoulders. His dark eyes stare at Avery, and he acts as if I don’t even exist. I like it that way.

“What is it, Kayn?” Avery asks, scooting his chair back and standing.

“I just spoke with Tristan, and he is on his way over. He has some intel on…” His eyes find mine before they go back to Avery. “The source.”

“You are excused, Bunny,” Avery says without hesitation.

I push my chair back, stand, and walk out, not even bothering to say a word. Once I reach the long hallway, I look behind me to see if either one of them are following me or if they are still talking in the dining room. When I see I’m in the clear, I run into his office, grab a bottle of scotch, and then run up the stairs two at a time, ready to have a drink and pass the fuck out for the day.

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I’ve waited two days. Once again, Avery hasn’t visited me. He’s stayed away, and I’ve kept to myself in my room.

And I’m starting to go crazy. I need fresh air. I need an adult conversation. I really need to talk to Alex. Does she miss me? Has she realized I’m gone? I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve disappeared and that she would be worried about me, but it’s not. I’ve fallen off the face of the earth many times, and she’s always come to save me. She’s that kind of best friend. But I always had my cell. There was that one time it died, and I forgot my charger at home along with my purse and suitcase. Long story short, I ended up stealing a charger from a gas station and had to call her to come pick me up when the bastard left me stranded in Las Vegas. Then there was another time I went on a vacation with a man up to his cabin in Colorado. I had no service and had to run over a mile to a neighbor’s house to call her.

Obviously, I was never sober when I did these things. I don’t think I’ve done anything rational in the past eleven years. Guess that just proves why I am where I am today. I’m being punished. I never once tried to help or save any of those women taken by our fathers, and I’m paying for it now. But it’s not a complete stranger; instead, it’s someone I used to love. The only person who I thought would have my back no matter what betrayed me.

Seventeen years old

I wake up on the hotel floor. My eyes are red and puffy from tears, my back sore, and knees pulled up to my chest. My body hurts. It hasn’t stopped.

He left me!

Then his voicemail … destroyed me.

It hurts—everything. My body. My heart. My pride.

As I blink the tears away, my purse comes into view on the floor. The guy threw it into this room along with me. It’s on its side, unzipped, and the contents have fallen out. There’s a pill bottle. My meds. More importantly, painkillers. I want them. I wanna be numb. Getting up on my hands and knees, I crawl over to them, pop it open, and swallow two of them. Then I make my way over to the minibar and open the mini bottle of vodka. Tipping my head back, I swallow the entire bottle, making sure I have every drop, then I suck in a long breath before throwing it across the room. It hits the door and shatters into a million little pieces just like my fucking soul.

I reach for my phone and dial his number. Maybe Avery will listen to me. He knows me.

I place the phone to my ear, and just when I think it’s about to ring, a woman’s voice comes on. “The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service ...”

I hang up and tighten my hands on it. No! No! This can’t be … he wouldn’t… why? Why would he not let me explain?

“I fucking hate you!” I scream as if he’s here and can hear me. “Fucking hate you!” I’m shouting at the top of my lungs. My throat burns, and my heart pounds in my chest. Getting up on my knees, I allow my head to fall back and the tears to run down the side of my face.

A knock comes on my door. “Miss, you okay?”

“No!” I cry out, falling forward. I’m not okay.

They pound on it some more. “Open up, miss.”

“Go away,” I mumble, out of energy. My shoulders starting to sag. My head hangs forward. My vision starts to get cloudy. And I rock back and forth on my knees, hugging myself. “I hate you,” I whisper harshly while my eyes get heavy. The pills are doing their job. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Either way, I welcome what is to come.

I still hear the voices outside of my door, but I can’t make them out anymore. I fall to the floor face down, and I blink slowly, welcoming the silence. The darkness. The relief of the pain I know will never go away unless I drown it out. Smother it. I’ll do whatever I need to do, whatever I need to drink or swallow to make sure I stay numb.

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