Page 48 of Psycho Killers

Tonight was only supposed to be us staking out the place, trying to get a better picture of what we're up against. But my mind keeps screaming at me to walk the fuck inside like it's normal. And that's not the only thing screaming at me.

"Do it, Cali. Open the door and walk right in. Prove to your parents that you're not afraid anymore," Addy whispers in my left ear, a chill trickling down my spine as I spiral quickly, flashbacks torturing my fucking soul.

She's back, and right at the worst fucking time. I try to ignore her, but I hear her whisper again in my right ear, and before I know it, her voice is all I can hear. But for once, I refuse to engage with her. I know Killian is watching, and if I want him to believe I'm doing better, I know I need to stop pretending that Addy is real. I need to bite my tongue and ignore her. But it's so fucking hard.

"Cali," Killian yells, trying to get my attention as I wrap my fingers around the blade of my knife, cutting myself without even realizing it. I don't feel the sting. I only see the blood as I look down, and it snaps me out of the crazy, allowing me to hear Killian yelling my name as he rushes over to me, his face full of concern that matches the panic in his hypnotizing eyes.

"Jesus Christ, Cali! What the fuck are you doing?" He growls, squeezing my shoulders and shaking me as I focus my eyes on my bloody fingers.

"I... I... I cut myself," I whisper, feeling numb as nostalgia knocks the wind out of me.

I remember all those times I willingly scarred my skin with the razorblade, just to remind myself that I was alive in a body that felt so fucking dead. But I haven't picked up a blade in a while—I haven't needed to because when I'm with the guys, I always feel alive.

"Hey, it's okay," he says soothingly, taking a black bandana out of his back pocket and tying it around the large slice across four of my fingers.

Taking such caution, he gently tugs me into his arms and tightens them around me, peppering the top of my head with kisses that melt my fucking soul. I don't know what's happening, but it feels like I've broken through the wall that I spent so long trying to knock down. Something inside me feels free, even though I'm not fully there yet. But I'm ready to be. More than anything, I'm ready to be fully free.

"I want to go inside," I tell him, looking at the ground as his warm lips continue to graze the top of my head.

"Fuck it, baby. Let's go in then," he tells me, reaching down and grabbing my hand to hold, never giving my crazy idea another thought.

I reach for the doorknob, my fingers trembling. For a brief second, I want to flee, to escape and ride into the night instead. But the roar of the engine, the vibration that soothed me moments ago, is replaced with the pounding of my heart, reminding me of my purpose. I push the door open, bracing for the chaos within.

The entryway is dark, lit only by the faint glow of the living room. Instantly, the smell of stale cigarettes and long-forgotten arguments washes over me, a reminder of everything I’ve tried to forget. I step inside, the floor creaking underfoot, and my senses heighten as I listen for any sign of life. The low murmur of a television plays in the background; the sound like static in my ears.

“Who's there?” My mother calls out, her voice rasping with unmistakable annoyance, pulled from a moment of comfort.

I pick up the tension coiling in her tone, and it ignites a flicker of defiance in me. I swallow hard, the knot in my stomach tightening, as I glance at Killian one last time. He nods encouragingly from the shadows beside me, a silent reminder that I’m not alone. I need to stay focused. I can't let the memories drown me; they’ll only delay my resolve.

“It's me, mother,” I reply, injecting as much bravado into my voice as I can muster, wanting them to see that I'm not afraid of them anymore.

I step into the living room, and my parents’ eyes land on me, swirling with surprise and irritation. My father’s brow furrows, his fingers still paused over the remote, a drink balanced precariously in his other hand.

"What the fuck are you doing back here?" he growls, his gaze hardening like the remnants of my childhood I wish to bury.

“I came to talk.” The words spill out before I can brace myself for their reaction. This is it—my chance to reclaim the narrative. I straighten my back, pushing all those years of resentment and pain into the surface.

“Talk?” My mother scoffs, her eyes narrowing. “Is that what you call barging in unannounced? You think you can just show up after so long and after everything you've done and expect us to listen?”

“No, Mom, I expect you to shut the fuck up and listen,” I snap back, the anger erupting from a well of buried emotion. “You’ve both done nothing but ruin my fucking life. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not!”

A beat of silence hangs between us, the tension thickening the air. I can feel Killian’s presence behind me as he keeps me close in his sights, letting me attempt this move on my own, his energy a reassuring tether, but I can't focus on him now. The room feels like a volcano ready to erupt, each word a single spark against the dry tinder of our history.

“What is this? You come here after abandoning us for so long, and now you want to disrespect us in our own home?” My father’s voice is low and dangerous, each syllable dripping with disdain. But I see the cracks in his facade, the uncertainty that always lay beneath his bravado.

I take a step forward. “No more lying. No more hiding. No more pretending to be a happy family when all we fucking do is tear each other apart. I’m fucking done. I’m fucking tired of living in fear of you.”

The silence that follows is deafening, my declaration hanging in the air, raw and unapologetic, as if it’s summoned every unspoken word we’ve kept buried for too long.

“What the hell does that mean?” My mother stands now, leaning half-forward in disbelief, her expression shifting from annoyance to panic.

“It means I’m done, for good this time. You won’t have the power over me any longer.” I clamp down on the fear clawing at my insides, willing myself not to back down. “I’m taking my fucking life into my own hands, and you can’t stop me.”

There's a flurry of noise behind me—a sudden crashing sound—and I whirl around to find Killian storming further into the room, his posture tense. I hadn’t even heard him approach, but now his presence feels like a much-needed protective barrier. But that isn't all. I see a gleam of sliver hair under the moonlight coming in the large windows, displaying the face of the man who held me captive in Gunnar's basement before I was able to escape. I feel myself panic as our eyes meet, the evil in his churning nausea in my stomach and making me feel like I'm about to pass out.

"You," I snap, gripping my knife in my hand so tightly that my knuckles crack as they turn white, hot rage simmering inside of me.

"Calista, meet your grandfather," my mother laughs, knowing that me seeing him after what he did is throwing me all off my game.

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