Page 82 of Soul of a Psycho

“And you’ll be six feet under if you touch Sky again,” I say, the humor of it all fading as fast as it came on.

“Sure,” he condescends with a smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

Red blots out my peripheral, and I whip the knife around, positioning it between his legs. The pump, pump, pump of the blood in his balls swell around the blade. He stiffens, face going white.

That’s better.

“You don’t—” He gulps. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” I snarl, tearing the fabric of his trousers with the sharpened tip.

The idea of skewering his balls and giving them to Sky flits through my mind, and I have to grit my teeth to resist. He’ll probably bleed out. And I can’t kill him. Ican’t.

“Listen,” I shake him, deepen the blade against his bulge, enunciating each word. “You’re never going to see your daughter again.”

His brow pinches, albeit in disgust, but the wheels are turning. Good. He needs to pay attention.

“If you even so much as call her,” I continue. “I will say you came to Hillcrest and assaulted me. That you cornered me in the little boy’s room. Pulled your pants down and forced me to my knees.” I let the false accusation marinate for a second, giving him a chance to realize for himself what that means for someone like him, someone in the public eye.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s not true,” I say, spelling it out for him in case he’s that dense. “That kind of stain never goes away, does it? It fuels little seeds of doubt in people. You’ll be ruined. No one will ever look at you the same. They’ll always be wondering,did. he. do. it?”

His jaw ticks, and I know what he tastes as he gnashes his teeth. Defeat. Bitter defeat.

“And in case you want to call my bluff, know that I don’t give a fuck—” I flick my wrist and stab into his thigh. “—about my reputation.”

He winces, body going rigid as a hiss breaks from his lips and sweat beads at his forehead. The snow flurries that have started to fall melt on contact as his body reacts to the wound. But he’ll be fine. I avoided the artery, much to my annoyance. I just gave him a nice scar proving my self defense in case he chooses to force my hand.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Sky

Cade’s eyes are closed, but his brow bunches and jaw sets. I can feel the tensing and releasing on my chest from where he’s fallen asleep. The moss green chaise in the library has sort of become our spot, and the dim glow of the wall sconces illuminates him beautifully. He’s a tortured soul of lost sleep, no matter how long he drifts off for. I don’t know what has him so stressed, but my worry for him increases every day, only shadowed by the lingering threat my father left me with.

Though, there’s been no reminders, no missed calls, not even a follow up text. The bruises on my arm are practically gone, and I haven’t heard a thing from him, which is unlike him. He normally likes to twist the knife after he guts you with it, but it’s been blissfully quiet, cocooning even, in the snow-blanketed world of Hillcrest. My mother texted me once, mentioning Christmas break, but I don’t think she’s aware of my father’s visit, and I didn’t bring it up. She deals with him on a daily basis now, all by herself. I don’t need to give her any more reason to reach for another pill. She was barely lucid when I left. I can only imagine how she is now.

As bad as I feel for her, a selfish part of me doesn’t want to go home for the holiday. And why would I? Yes, twinkling lights will have been strung up by a company for hire, and dinner will beas big as a feast, but it will be like it has been every year before, full of fake joy. There will be the quiet of walking on eggshells, the weak smiles my mother tries to shoot my way, and the gifts my father’s secretary picked out, devoid of meaning. Both my mother and I will pretend to be delighted so as to not seem ungrateful and trigger his insecure wrath, and then we’ll part ways to nurse the new wounds that yet another Christmas has bestowed upon us. It’s tedious and exhausting. There’s nothing worse than misery steeped in reds and greens and merriness.

At least here, the twinkling lights that Britney and her committee put up have character. I may not like her, but everything is warm and glistening with cheer. There’s even real snow, something Southern California doesn’t get.

And Cade.

Cade who will be left here by himself if I go. I’ve learned his mother has special quarters as the headmistresses, complete with a living room and kitchen, and that it’s actually really lavish, but their relationship is strained. I can’t see him willingly spending time with her during the break, and I don’t want him to be in that shack anymore than he already is.

The snow rises every night, and if it wasn’t for the men that come and clear the paths, I wouldn’t be able to get to class. I don’t know how Cade treks through it in the woods. What does he even do out there? It must be lonely.

I smooth a piece of hair from his face, frowning at the hollows under his eyes. I genuinely hope he isn’t losing sleep about the skull faced guy. The headmistress made good on her promise of getting security—a round man with a goatee—that patrols the campus after dark. I haven’t seen that crudely painted face since, though Ruby and I still keep the chair wedged under our door knob, just in case.

Because, if I’m being honest, I still feel him. Lurking, biding his time. For what, I’m not sure. He could have hurt me thenight he was in our room. He had plenty of opportunity while I slept, but he didn’t. I don’t know what he wants, and that’s the scary part. A shudder runs down my spine despite the warmth of Cade’s body clutching mine, and he stirs, blinking up at me.

All the fear melts, leaving me unable to resist smiling.

“Hi,” I whisper.

“Hi.” The corner of his mouth quirks up, mirroring me.

“Sleep well?”

“How long was I out?” His voice is deep with repose, and it causes a heat to flare between my legs.

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