Page 39 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

Her eyes widen and she blanches a moment before her head thumps down against my chest. Her face moves side to side. Just like last night. A breath shudders into me and then slowly releases as she, too, reaches up and grips my arms, tightening her hold. “I-I … I’ll tell you if I’m going to leave,” she says.

Inhaling her clean scent, I swallow back my inner words, my true desires, my commands. “That’s all I ask,” I say instead. “Don’t just disappear on me. Not again. Anything else, I can take.”

I don’t say the truth. I don’t tell her that there will be no closure if she’s gone. Only deadened emptiness. As I wrap my arms around her smaller frame, I drag her closer and stare into the white grain wood above our heads. I see what’s in front of me, but my eyes see much further. At all the things I could do.

It’s there in the back of my mind. The same darkness that stole her away five years ago. I could chain her up. Lock her in my bedroom. I’d treat her so much better than my father ever did. I’d love her until she couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t just me and her. The two of us. Together.

She’d remain right where I could always see her. Eternally safe. That’s all I need.

It almost scares me how easily I can picture that future for the two of us and how very easy it would be to tip myself over that edge. The only thing holding me back is the fact that we’re not there yet. She could still choose me. She could still choose what I want. I have to give the future I truly want a chance because once I step off that cliff, there will be no coming back. I won’t be the Luc she knows anymore. Just like she won’t be the Micki that I love.

It’ll be the end of who we were.

I have that power.

And it fucking terrifies me.

17

MICKI

18 years old…

I stare back at myself in the mirror of my bathroom and try to take deep breaths. My eyes scan it, searching for something, anything, to focus on other than my own ugly image. Something to slow the terrified racing of my heart. My hands tremble against the sink so much that it takes me locking my fingers around the rim to stop them. Finally, I fixate on a small crack in the lower left-hand corner. It separates the impression of the reflection, a single dark line cutting through the otherwise smooth flawless surface. Tracing that line up and down and back again seems to work for the first thirty seconds and then I hear movement to my right—just beyond the door—and the fear and panic come racing back all over again.

Why today? Today of all days?I had it marked on my calendar. The one hope I’ve held onto for the last several months. I’m eighteen. There’s no more need for guardianship. I thought … no, I’d mistakenly fooled myself like the true idiot I am. There’s no way Thomas Kincaid would let me go even when I turned eighteen.

The bathroom seems to grow colder. Air pumps out from the vent, moving over my skin like a venomous snake. I’m so cold and I’ve been this way for so goddamn long. I just want a little warmth. Just a little…

Phantom hands climb up my arms and move over my shoulders. Invisible fingers smooth across my flesh, touching my throat. Squeezing. I bite down on my lower lip, holding back tears. Thomas Kincaid has been the ghost and monster in my life for far too long. Every time I get like this—rarely now that I’ve accepted his ownership—heis the one that enters my mind now. He’s taken everything. From my freedom to my body to even the voice in the back of my head. A little demon on my shoulder, whispering in my ear as he tells me what to do.

Calm down. This is what you were made for. You don’t want to disappoint your mother, do you? You want to be free, don’t you?

Fucking lying asshole. You can’t disappoint a dead person and maybe that last line worked on me for the first two years, but I’m eighteen now.Today.I’m eighteen today. Ishouldbe free. Hell, I counted down the days until my birthday, and this is my gift? Another client. Not just another client, but the worst fucking one of them all.

My chest squeezes tight. My ribcage threatens to cave in with the panic that races through my system. My eyes flash to the razor sitting on the edge of the tub. It would be so easy to just … stop it all here. I wonder if that’s what she did. If Thomas pushed her so hard that she forgot she had a daughter and just … drifted away somewhere that no one could reach her. Not even him.

Thomas Kincaid might be a god in the living world, but in the end—in death—we’re all the fucking same.

I shake my head and direct my gaze back to the mirror in front of me.No.I force my morbid thoughts back. I still have something to live for. I still have someoneto live for.

In the front of my mind, I try to draw his image to life.Luc.With his golden hair streaked with different shades of blonde and brown. His crystal blue eyes. Those high cheekbones. The way his lips were so soft against mine. His fingers delving down between my legs. He would ease the pain away. Only ever giving me pleasure. He would be nothing like the man on the other side of the bathroom door.

One.Inhale.

Two.Exhale.

Three. Inhale.

Four.Exhale.

Five…Fuck. Me.

It’s not working. He’s still out there. Waiting. I want to cry, but I don’t. At the end of the night, though, I know I’ll be fucking wrecked. A mess. Broken. Every time, I think there’s no possible way to break something that’s already been shattered and people like him manage to prove me wrong. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

I look down at what I’m wearing, and with a grimace, I release the edges of the bathroom sink to turn and do what I came in here to do. I rip off my comfortable t-shirt like a Band-Aid—quick and fast—letting it drop to the white tiled floor. My bra and pants drop along with it. My underwear takes a little longer. It’s the last barrier. My hands shake as I touch the fabric.

Just fucking do it, Micki,I tell myself. Hesitating now will just make it last. I hook my fingers into the straps on either side of my hips and as I finally slip them down my thighs and over my calves, I feel bile surge up my throat.

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