Page 36 of The Pretty Psycho

The plush towel he wrapped me in was still around me even after he deposited me on the bed. He quickly dried himself off and changed his pants, before coming back to me. He then dried my hair at a slow pace, avoiding the cut on the back of my neck.

The brush he mentioned was now in his hand, gliding slowly through my hair, while we sat in silence, mulling over the things that had happened.

My chest was exploding with old and new emotions, with things I wanted to tell him, but I knew I had to start at the beginning.

"I was just a child when The Schatten took me in," I whispered. He suddenly stopped brushing my hair, taking a deep breath. I had to do this now or I would never get another chance. "My mom was taken to prison when I was just five years old. She killed a man. Turns out he was not her first or second, but the last of dozens. I had no idea why, and I would never know. Well, I know why she killed that last one, but the others," I shrugged, "I have no idea. That's why it was so easy for me to accept The Schatten. That's why it was so easy for them to brainwash me into the mindless monster I was, willing to do everything they ever wanted me to." He placed the brush down next to my hip and wrapped his arms around my middle, avoiding my ribs as he pulled me to him.

His chest pressed against my back, giving me the strength to continue.

"I was twelve years old when Tyler came to the organization. He was larger than life, so sure of himself and older than me. He was the brother I never had and I looked up to him, wanting to be him one day. He left for the Academy when I was thirteen and he never came back." I closed my eyes, remembering the cracks appearing all over my heart when I figured out he would never return.

I mourned that motherfucker only for him to do this to me.

"Tyler," I stammered, realizing this was harder than I thought it would be. "Tyler is the one who kidnapped me, Adrian." His entire body froze, his arms tightening, banding around me. I placed my injured right hand on top of his, needing more than just his arms around me to continue. "Tyler raped me."

Adrian grunted, burying his face in my hair. "He was deranged, completely unhinged. H-He…" My voice broke. "He killed those girls on campus. I have no idea why, but he has something against you. I don't understand, because I know he's older than you."

"I can assure you, Vega, I have never met him. I mean, I don't know what he looks like, obviously, but I don't remember anyone named Tyler. Was he at the Academy while I was here?"

"No." I shook my head. "I doubt you ever even crossed paths. But as per The Schatten, your brother was here at the same time. That’s all I know."

“I wish I knew more, baby,” he mumbled. “I wish I could tell you what happened to Dain and if the two of them ever knew each other, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck, chuckling at the frown on his face. "I'm not done brushing your hair."

"It can wait."

"But—"

"I'm tired, Adrian," I said, pressing my cheek against his bare chest. He had sweatpants on now, straining against his thick thighs. I didn't want to talk about Tyler or anything at all. It hurt, not because he destroyed me, but because the trust I had in him had vanished the moment I realized he was the one who took me.

"I know, baby," Adrian murmured, cradling my head. "I know. But I still need to check those wounds and we need to talk."

"Do we have to?"

He laughed. "We do. You need your hand, and I bet it's hurting something fierce." It did, but I didn't want to say it out loud, because the pain in my hand kept getting overpowered by the pain in my heart. "Come on," he moved away, taking with him the warmth I was craving. "This will be quick."

He jumped off the bed and disappeared into the kitchen area, coming back a few minutes later with a small box that had the first aid symbol on it. His lean body pressed against mine as he sat down and I scooted closer, craving his nearness like an addict craving their next fix.

It was easier fighting through the mud in my mind with him nearby. I breathed easier. I wanted to overcome this because I knew he would be here with me.

He took my hand in his, glaring at the angry red slash on top of it, breathing heavily. "I hate him," he suddenly said, closing his eyes. "I hate him for doing this to you."

"It's nothing I'm not used to," I lied, which we both knew. I was used to cuts, scrapes, and bruises. I was used to getting beaten and beating others, but I wasn't used to this hollowness in my soul. I wasn't used to this kind of pain.

I’d tried so hard over the course of my life to be careful, to never get myself into a situation that would have this kind of an outcome.

He exhaled slowly and popped open the first aid box, pulling out a cream tube and opening it. He placed my hand on his knee, positioning the tube on top of the cut and pushing out the contents on my skin. I winced when the cold cream touched my burning skin. "The doctor said you were lucky," Adrian murmured, spreading the cream over the cut. "Tyler,or whatever the fuck his name is, missed the bones when he stabbed you." But I didn't feel lucky.

I didn't feel lucky at all.

My hand hurt. I could barely move it right now, especially after that stint in the hospital. I didn’t want to show it, I didn’t want him to know, but it hurt more than anything else on my body right now.

"It almost looks as if they didn’t stitch it," I said, mesmerized by the way his fingers spread the cream over my skin.

"No," he rumbled. "Well, not entirely. They stitched it loosely, because they had no idea how long ago you sustained this injury, and they couldn’t risk an infection."

"Tyler poured alcohol on it," I said, remembering the burn, the shame, the need to disappear. "He thought he was doing me a favor."

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