Page 16 of Unwrapping Deviance

Why was any of it fair? Why them? Why them and not me?

Here I stand, a barely passable human with zero worth in the world, zero contributions and abandonment issues that could fit theGrand Canyon. I barely got my high school diploma, and only because Daniel refused to let me drop it and pushed me to get my GED. I have no talents. No skills. I barely have the will to live most days.

But yeah, let’s let her live. Great choice.

Disgusted, I shut the lights off and cross the unfamiliar room to the door and peek out. That strange, hollow silence pulses down the dimly lit corridor disturbed only by the rush of blood still pounding between my ears.

Certain I’m the only one awake, I hurry my way to the stairs and down into the darkness at the bottom.

Vast darkness. The kind of endless black found only at the very bottom of a well. In the city, even during the cloudiest night, it’s never actually dark. There is always light from somewhere.

There is nothing here, except maybe monsters. Creatures who live in isolated cabins, ancient, horrible things that need souls to survive.

I nibble anxiously on my bottom lip. My fingers twist in the hem of my top. I know it’s not too late to turn back, but I foolishly don’t. My pride needs to see this through it seems, so I find myself edging tentatively forward, gauging the layout by memory — the little I managed to see earlier.

I briefly consider slipping into Daniel’s room and begging him to come with me to get a glass of water, but I’m supposed to be an adult. Apparently.

I blink several times like that might make a difference, but my eyes don’t adjust. Instead, I kick the corner of something solid and immediately regret every life choice as unimaginable pain rockets through my toes. It cripples my soul, nearly taking out what little will I have left. I have to wheeze my agony through clenched teeth and resist the urge to simply curl up where I’ve been struck down and let the demons eat me because fuck life.

A smart, normal person would have brought their phone, used the light. That’s the whole point of that built in option so you don’t get maimed by furniture in the dark.

But I avoid the thing. I rarely keep it on, or if it is, it’s on mute. There are hundreds of missed calls and texts I haven’t checked in over a year. Nor will I.

Nothing good ever came from that thing.

Every bad news I’ve gotten was from that devil machine and — though there’s no one left to lose — I don’t want to take the chance.

I will keep it close and on when Daniel goes to work, but every time it buzzes with some stupid notification or some asshole feels the need to call about some upgrade to my plan, my world shatters. It sends me spiraling to the point of hysterical sobbing on the floor.

I’ve gotten better at not calling Daniel at work. The first few times, he rushed home to me. But that’s not sane or healthy. I can’t do that to him. Not while he’s at work.

But since I stopped, Daniel has been sending little texts every hour or so, short things like, “heading to court.” “Mexican for supper?” “Miss you.”

It’s like he knows I need the assurance and it keeps me going while he’s away.

Still, had I known I would be getting attacked by furniture, I may have taken the time to locate my phone.

Irate, I hobble forward, fingers I can’t even see extended out in front of me, feeling for the next ambush.

I’m not disappointed when I walk into a wall. The only problem now is which way to the kitchen. How far off am I?

“What madness is this?” I grumble to myself.

A light flares on as if summoned by the sheer will of my mind. The room floods with the mute glow and highlights my path, and the topless man standing on the bottom step.

“Lost, Goldilocks?”

Heat sweeps into my cheeks as I face Christian with his gallery of body art and sleep tousled hair. His jeans are open in a wide, suggestive V like he’d pulled them on in a hurry but hadn’t bothered zipping up.

I also note that he isn’t wearing a thing under. The plunging gap frames a smooth span of skin and a hint of his—

I immediately look away.

I think I hear him chuckle, but I can no longer trust myself to check. It’s only when I hear the groan of boards, the light, confident tread of feet that my attention jumps up to the man taking his sweet time coming straight towards me. His big hands are at his waistband,insidehis pants, adjusting and shaking himself down. He jerks on the edges of the denim before dragging the zipper up but leaving the button open.

I hastily snap my gaze up to his face to find his attention on my chest. My shirt. My sharp, sensitive nipples pressing into the fabric. They tingle under the pointed stare. Harden, if possible.

I cross my arms. He snickers but lifts his eyes to mine.

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