Page 103 of Ramsay

“How about this,” I say, going around Diem and turning back to watch them as I back down the hall. “How about you piece of shit, fucking assholes go to hell? Hm, and while you’re there, say hello to every fucking piece of shit who’s ever thought it was okay to abuse a human being.”

Ramsay takes one step forward, his nostrils flared, and his hands clenched into fists, but Oliver grabs his shoulder. Diem steps up beside him and with a last look, I ignore the pang of envy in my chest at their solidarity and walk away.

I’d like to say my rage-fueled attack means I’m not crushed, but it’s a lie because the last vestiges of my humanity were resting with those secrets, and now they’re out in the world for all to consume. I’m not surprised, but I am devastated.

∞∞∞

Lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling and contemplate giving in—to the drugs, to the hate, to the need.

Once when I was at my very lowest, before my parents intervened, I slit my wrists. Finally numb, I watched the life flow from my veins with fascination, flying high, and feeling no pain.

Jagger found me and had one of his friends stitch me back together. I still have the scars to show for it, not that anyone has ever noticed. That would mean people see me, and that’s impossible when you’re fucking invisible.

What a tangled fucking web.

If I hadn't promised Hate I’d perform tonight, I’d bow out, but some things are worse than even this, and that would be Hate when he’s angry.

Because I feel dead inside, I put extra care into my clothes, donning a tiny skirt that barely covers my bush and a shirt ripped and torn over a siren red bra.

Leaving my hair loose down my back, I apply heavy dark makeup and pull on a pair of thigh-high boots in black patent leather before stepping up to the mirror for a final check.

This is how I dressed before. This is how I felt good about myself, and when I stare at my reflection, I see Cherry staring back. Don't get me wrong, she’s hot, but she’s slutty, and that's the person I became to please others.

Tonight, it’s not about that, to my relief, but it is about being a slave to someone else because, despite my warnings to myself, I couldn’t resist the dirt Hate was willing to give. And that currency is worth whatever price, showing me pathetically that my addiction may not be to drugs anymore, but a trio of guys with darkness for souls.

Hate picks me up at nine pm, giving me a chin nod, not that I need his approval but whatever.

Once we're on our way, he says in his deep voice, “She’s already there. See if you can talk to her, ask to step outside and smoke or something.”

“Okay,” I say absently, staring out the window into my life. I’m a blur in the passing scenery, and it's fucking apropos for any given day. Blurred.

“This is important, Cherry,” he barks.

Turning to him, I stare at him steadily and say, “Okay.”

Looking me over, he blinks, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Life happened to me, Hate. You know how it is,” I murmur.

“Whatever, what happened since I saw you last?”

“I was reminded of who I am, who I’m not, and who I’ll never be.”

“Is this about that fucking dick, Yates?”

“Maybe.”

“I should’ve gutted him when I had the chance,” he mutters and I chuckle, surprised it’s a genuinely humorous emotion, but this means the numbness of before is wearing off.

Unfortunate. I’m not interested in feeling pain. I’m not interested in feeling anything and frankly I’m a bare thread away from giving in to the oblivion that’s hovering just below my skin.

When we pull up to the warehouse, Hate’s focus turns away from me to my relief because although I appreciate his sentiment, I don't need another dick interfering in my world. I’ve got too many now. Hah.

“You know this is his turf?” I ask.

“Don’t give a fuck, even dicks like him are scared of something,” he says with a feral grin.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe.

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