Page 84 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Arabella was just so loud compared to everyone else. That was it.

She made a breathy noise of enjoyment as she bit into something, and I shivered as I adjusted my sweatpants.

Would she groan with pleasure as I dragged a knife across her flesh?

I knew I would.

And I couldn’t wait.

It was only a matter of time. After all, she belonged to us.

Chapter 13

Aran

CONFLICTS

The Legionnaire Games: Day 22, hour 19

Sitting on my bed, I tugged at the brush that was tangled in my hair. I yelped as a knot yanked against my scalp.

I hated pain.

Loathed it.

It was not my thing, and I was sick and tired of constantly experiencing it. Could one stupid thing in my life maybe not suck?

Each day last week I’d woken up and said my morning affirmation: “I am the victim.”

The week had felt like it lasted a million painful years, but somehow it had all blinked by.

The first competition was tomorrow.

My life was a cycle of misery.

All I did was train, panic, eat, train, panic, avoid Sari’s hateful gaze at meals, panic, try to sleep, smoke, maladaptive daydream about a hot fictional man loving me, eat, panic, and hang out with misogynists all day. Repeat.

When I tried to focus on any individual day, I could barely remember the details.

It was all a hazy blur.

Like a bad trip.

I wasn’t ready for the psychological torment to begin tomorrow, because I was already tortured. Not to be dramatic.

Huffing with my arms burning (why was brushing your hair literally harder than hauling a granite slab?), I repositioned myself on my bed to get better leverage and pulled harder. Pain pinched my scalp, but the brush didn’t move. My stupid curls were driving me wild.

I lived in hell.

Shadows from the fireplace refracted eerily across the gothic architecture. The heavy curtains had been drawn, and they blocked out the eclipse’s red haze.

The rest of my legion snored softly, and besides the occasional sound of bedding rustling, the room was quiet.

Everyone slept peacefully.

Not relatable.

After ten minutes of fighting with my stupid brush, I yanked out a tangle of curls in defeat. This was what I got for trying to practice self-care. I got scalped.

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