Page 114 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

I’d jumped headfirst off the post like an absolute badass.

I stared into the mirror and laughed harder.

The only source of light in the bathroom was a small hexagon window. Maroon light cast spooky shadows around my reflection. I looked creepy.

I’d tipped off a post into open air with a pipe between my lips and Horse by my side, and the free fall had felt like exquisite freedom.

I smiled.

Oops. I was missing three teeth.

Sometimes I was cool as shit.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I poked at my eyeballs. They were no longer bloodshot; they were just bloody.

Masses of broken blood vessels surrounded my corneas.

I blinked, and a droplet of blood ran down my cheek like a teardrop. A pink streak was left across green-tinted skin.

Once again, absolute badass.

“John’s sweatshirt better be off your body when you come out.” Malum pounded on the door. “Remember who owns you.”

John yelled, “Don’t listen to him, he’s just jealous because—”

There was a loud grunt and the sound of men wrestling.

I ignored them.

Pressing John’s soft sweatshirt against my nose, I inhaled the woodsy deliciousness.

I officially had an olfactory kink. Another thing I didn’t need to know about myself.

Just to check, I sniffed my skin and choked on the pungent scent of gore.

I smelled like a dead rat.

Not all of us were so blessed.

For a long moment, I considered keeping it on just to piss the kings off, but then a wave of exhaustion made the world spin. I toppled over.

Knees pressed against the bathroom floor, I tried to calm my racing heart.

I wasn’t strong enough to fight with the kings.

I tipped forward and lay on the floor with my limbs spread. The tile didn’t feel cold, because I was already shivering. Lately I was always cold, and I didn’t know why.

After long moments of panting and trying mentally to pull myself together, I got back to my feet.

With stiff, achy movements, I reluctantly pulled off John’s cozy sweatshirt and folded it onto my shelf.

We each had our own cubby and hamper in the bathroom that the servants kept stocked with clean clothes. I needed to thank whatever female servant had added a new pile of underwear and sports bras. Only a woman would have included the shapeless, soft purple garments that flattened my boobs and completely covered my butt in comfy fabric.

Sorting through the pile, I could have sworn there were usually five pairs of underwear, but now there were only four. The last pair must have been unsalvageable.

Getting dressed seemed like a smart idea in theory.

In reality, my stitches pulled, and once again I fell over as I tried to pull up my underwear.

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