Page 169 of Pucking Obsessed

D’Angelo’s.

I bite my lip hard, fighting back the memories of every hit, kick, crack of the belt, paddle, or whip…every implement that the couple could think of to persuade me to speak.

It was a game to them.

I gained my phoenix wings in that room, when they threw me in the air and I flew, hitting my head against the wall and dyingto the sounds of my own screams (but not a single word), over and over again…

I was reborn from the ashes, stronger and braver.

More deadly.

Is that what’s happening to D’Angelo? Is this nothing but a game to Heine?

I’m going to kill Heine.

I leap off the final step of the stairs. My expression steels.

The bottom of the basement is painted scarlet. The floor is carpeted, and there’s a low cabinet with multiple drawers to the side, as well as a couch that’s covered with blankets and soft cushions.

What is this place?

At the back is a metal door.

The sounds are coming from behind it.

A red mist settles over my mind.

I ball my fists and march to the door.

When I attempt to open it, however, it’s locked. And I used up my paperclips.

I clench my jaw in frustration, before glancing around.

There’s no smoke detector down here.

I’ll scold D’Angelo for that later but for now, the burning can begin.

I drag at the costume cat tail, which is tied at my waist, yanking it off. I kneel down in front of the door, stuffing the tail like a draught excluder over the gap beneath the door.

Then I take out my lighter. The flame flickers.

It’s mesmerizing.

Once, I lit a fire in the bin at home. The teacher had written cruel things on the bottom of Shay’s English homework because he’d struggled with his spelling.

Shay had worked hard on the essay.

Shay would pretend to laugh it off, but I knew that it would wreck him to read in red pen:D- Unacceptable. This is an embarrassing attempt. Stop being lazy. You don’t have an excuse, when your twin can manage this. Are you faking or slow?

Shay was in extra ice hockey practice. He hadn’t seen the comments on his homework yet because I’d taken his bag.

Ripping the exercise book up hadn’t felt like enough. I’d wanted to see the flames burn it.

Watch it turn to ash.

It was one of the few times that Dad was genuinely angry with me, especially because I wouldn’t tell anyone, even Shay, why I’d burned his work.

I’d been grounded for a month.

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