Page 99 of Hunt for You

All I remember is that it was during those years I discovered the dark web and other people who thought like me, even if their experiences were different. I found my tribe. And I’ve been walking deeper and deeper into that world every year since.

It’s true, I’ve fucked half of California.

It’s also true I stopped, because it stopped feeling good.

It’s true I want to die, because what’s the point?

It’s also true that when Ronald came at me and I saw that light in his eye, it reminded me of the serial-killer dude from last year and everything I had to go through to get rid of him.

So yes, maybe I don’t want to just die for the sake of it. Because I’ve had two chances now, and didn’t take either of them.

But that just means I want to die on my own terms. And they weren’t it.

When I met Cain it was obvious he was different. More like me. And I find that fascinating. He’s got the monster, I can tell. But then again, lots of men have.

Am I fooling myself? Maybe.

But I’ve kind of stopped caring.

This life is nothing but isolation and pain. Even the fun parts are only fun for moments. Everyone is hurting. They have enough on their plates dealing with their own lives. They don’t even know where to start with mine. And I can’t blame them.

My life has been fucked since the moment I came into this world to an abused mother, and a psycho dad.

So let’s not even talk about whether or not I’m going to die, because I am. If Cain doesn’t get me, my heart will. Or the cancer will show up. But I don’t want to wait that long. The idea of facing one more Christmas like this is… God, it feels like I’m suffocating.

I’m done.

I’m just done.

And if Cain’s going to help me let go, I’ll ask God to forgive him for whatever the sin is, because in my mind, he’ll be doing me the biggest favor anyone ever did.

I’m exhausted. This world is terrifying. And it’s not even the fun kind of scary. Now I’m just starting to create pain for other people, instead.

It’s time.

34. End of Story

~ BRIDGET ~

“Bridget… don’t you see that dying will hurt others—the people who care about you?” Sam asked in a voice that edged on torment.

I blinked and stopped walking, turned to look at him, a little shocked because I’d gone so deep I’d kind of forgotten I was talking.

So I just stood there, staring at him, shaking my head.

“Don’t deny it, Bridget. If you died, anyone who cared about you would be hurt by that.”

“I’m not denying that,” I said finally. “I’m just kind of shocked that you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Sam frowned. “Figured what out?”

I raised my brows. “That thereisno-one who cares. Not really.”

I kind of blurted it out, so it wasn’t until it was out there, hanging in the air between us, that I realized what I’d said.

I would have been nervous, felt vulnerable, tried to backpedal and reassure him really quickly, but he didn’timmediately rush into the void telling me how many people loved me and God was there and blah blah blah.

No.

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