Page 54 of Psycho Boys

The image of my parent's faces flashes in my mind—a ghost of pain and betrayal. The memory stings, a fresh wound opened by the very thought of confronting them. Addy reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine. The touch is surprisingly comforting—a familiar warmth in the chilling night air.

"There are other ways, Cali,” she says softly, her voice a gentle counterpoint to the turmoil raging inside me. "Ways that don't involve more bloodshed, more pain."

I pull my hand away, the sudden withdrawal feeling almost violent. "Easy for you to say," I snap, the bitterness sharp on my tongue. "You were there. but you weren't at the same time. You didn't actually feel it."

She doesn't flinch, her gaze unwavering. "I felt it with you, Cali. I lived it with you. But that doesn't mean we're trapped by it. We can choose a different path."

Her words hang in the air, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm of my despair. The idea of a different path, a life free from the shadow of the past, feels both terrifying and strangely alluring. It's a path that requires more than just eliminating the source of my pain; it demands confronting it, healing it, and learning to live with the scars.

"How?" I ask, the question barely a breath.

The hope, fragile as it is, flickers within me, a tiny spark in the vast darkness. Addy smiles—a genuine smile this time, devoid of the usual unsettling undercurrent.

"One step at a time," she says, her voice filled with quiet strength that surprises me. "We start with you taking your medications consistently. We start with facing your parents, not with a weapon, but with the truth."

The thought of facing my parents, of confronting the years of abuse and neglect, sends a fresh wave of nausea through me. But this time, the fear isn't paralyzing. It's a different kind of fear—a fear mixed with a flicker of determination. A fear I can face because I'm not alone. Not anymore.

I take another drag of my cigarette, the familiar burn a small comfort in the face of the monumental task ahead. The silence in my head is still unsettling, but it's no longer empty. It's filled with the quiet hum of possibility, the faint whisper of a future I can almost reach. And for the first time in a long time, I feel a glimmer of hope, a fragile but persistent light pushing back against the impending darkness.

"Fuck it, they still need to die." I flick the cigarette butt and spin on my heel, walking back into the apartment to see the guys sitting on the couch just watching me.

Great, they all just witnessed me talking to myself again. Fucking hell.

Before I join them, I stop in the kitchen and grab a beer and a bottle of water, stalling on my way back to try and come up with something to say that doesn't involve me talking to my imaginary friend. Seeing the recliner open, I head for it and sit down, ignoring their intense stares. Taking a huge gulp of my beer, I glance at the four of them, noticing their mischievous grins.

"Okay, what is it now?" I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Nothing, just enjoying watching you out there," Dom says, a smirk on his face as he licks his lips.

"What, watching my ass or watching me talk to myself?" I snap, suddenly feeling very annoyed.

"Your ass, totally your ass," Killian chimes in, rubbing his hands together.

Ash snickers, and Five just looks around at them, most likely feeling left out of whatever is going on between them. I smile, unsure if they're fucking with me or not, but refusing to let their snide remarks put a damper on the rest of my evening. Changing the subject, I turn to Dom and return his grin with one of my own, dark and disturbing in every sense.

"It's your turn tomorrow, Dominic. Have you decided how you're going to kill your father?" I ask, flashing him a wink as his smirk slowly begins to fade, reality setting in hard.

He brings his beer bottle to his mouth and chugs it, obviously stalling like I was just moments before. The room falls silent, the TV fading into the background, and the only sound that surrounds us is the rapid beating of our hearts. Dom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single object, waving it in the air with a sadistic smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"With these," he says, confidence sparkling like diamonds in his bloodshot eyes.

"Brass knuckles?" Five laughs, taking a hit off the joint in his hand.

"Yup, I'm gonna beat his sorry ass to death." Dom nods and gulps down the rest of his beer, sliding his fingers through the holes in the weapon.

"Works for me," I tell him, already picturing the beating in my mind.

I lean my head back against the chair, my eyes closing on contact. They begin to talk amongst themselves, laughing and joking as if tomorrow we're not going to commit another murder, as if it's just another day for us.

Well, when you think about it... it is just another day for us. We're the kids our friends' parents told them to stay away from. We're dangerous and reckless. We're the fucking killer kids, and we make people's monsters disappear forever.

TWENTY-TWO

BRASS KNUCKLES

DIRT NAP: DIGGY GRAVES

DOMINIC

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