Page 94 of Scrimmage

Where Cole went wrong is that he’s too nice. He hovers and fusses. She wants someone to tell her what to do so she can tell them to fuck themselves that way they make her do it anyways. She’s not a fragile doll. She’s a raging storm of a person, and the only way you can contain something like that is to let it run it course. We’re playing a game. We both know it, andfuckI love games. I thought I didn’t. I thought it would be annoying, but it’s exhilarating. We’re playing chess and every time I think I check mate, she makes a move that I didn’t consider. I love control—I fucking thrive on it, but I’m changing the way I use it.

I don’t need to bold faced tell her what to do. That’s not fucking fun. Toying with her is much better. It makes her let my control in, lets it settle into her bones, and it trains her to fight and listen all at once. I don’t want some broken bitch who does whatever I say, I want one that is too intrigued not to listen. I want it to feel like she’s making a choice even if she’s not.

So I gave her the car.

When I tell her to come over she will, because I’ve made it convenient. She’ll do it because I make her orgasm. I’m an asshole, but I’ve fulfilled her needs so there’s nothing that stops her from saying yes. I’m removing obstacles to get what I want. It’s a mutual benefit. That’s what I want to believe because the alternative is fucked up. The alternative means accepting that I understand what my birth father was doing, and that I’m just like him.

My phone dings with a text from Slut. It’s the playlist. I put in my earbuds and run the rest of the way home, listening to every song that Ashland thought would drive me crazy.

Chapter Twelve

Ashland

I don’t know why he’s here, but it makes me afraid. It fills me with dread. I had just accepted my life as it is, and the Universe sent him here to remind me of how worthless I am, per usual. This is a punishment. That’s the only explanation. I gave in, and it wasn’t enough. I thought I had experienced every type of torture, but Damien has taught me better than that. When will I fucking learn?

“Yang?” Damien asks the boy who is supposed to be my best friend.

“Yes, sir.”

Yang isn’t stupid, despite what I used to say. He isn’t afraid either. He stands there with his chest puffed out and his shoulders back. He doesn’t even look at me.

Damien gives Yang a wicked grin. “I'd like you to pull down one of these stars.”

Yang doesn’t hesitate before pulling out his knife and tearing one down so hard that it rips some of the paint off of the ceiling.

“Don’t you wanna know what they’re for?”

“Only if it’s important to you, sir,” Yang answers robotically.

“Ya know,” Damien pauses, “It is.” He holds his hand out for the star. Yang hands it over, and he inspects it. “They look familiar, don’t they? I put all of these stars up in here the day I finally brought Ashland home. I’ve never loved someone, never been so obsessed with someone, like I am with her. I just want her to understand that she’s home.”

He grits his teeth and sticks the tip of his knife under Yang’s chin. Yang doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t react. He just stares straight ahead into the abyss.

“But, love isn’t limitless. You know that, don’t ya, son? It’s the first lesson everyone should learn, but Ashland, oh, Ashland,” Damien chuckles. “She’s so innocent that she needs me to teach her every single fuckin' thing. So it made sense that the stars serve a purpose. Each one that comes down represents my disappointment. With every star she loses she's a little bit closer to Hell."

The moment Damien says Hell I see Yang fidget. It’s just the smallest little tick, but I know him so well that I see it. For once, Damien doesn’t notice. It actually worries me, though. Yang and I aren’t afraid of death. We’re afraid of living, but we just never found a way to confidently end it. Self-preservation of the mind can go a very long way.

“You’ll be the one to take her there.” An evil grin widens Damien’s face like the Cheshire cat. His pupils are blown out. “I heard Memphis is in prison, is that correct?”

My throat squeezes shut at the mention of my brother.

“As far as I know, sir.”

“Do you know why he’s there?”

“No, sir. I only followed your orders, sir.”

Orders? What orders? How long has Yang been in Damien’s clutches?

“He made a deal with me then tried to go back on it when it didn't give him everything he wanted. Are you gonna betray me like that, Yang?”

“No, sir.”

I smell the hot iron before I see it. I bite my tongue and blood gushes into my mouth. I have no choice but to watch, and I absolutely cannot cry or else Yang won’t make it through this. Damien watches me as they tear off Yang’s jacket and his long sleeve shirt. Yang doesn’t fight as they shove a piece of leather into his mouth and press the hot symbol to his bicep. The smell of sizzling skin wafts over to me. I wanna throw up, but I stay strong, staring blankly ahead. Yang doesn’t make one sound while they brand him. He’s silent like the grim reaper.

I’m covered in sweat. I’m so tired of being haunted. Literally. The last time I saw Koda I already hadn’t slept in a day. It’s been almost thirty-six hours since I last closed my eyes. Being at the convention helped because there was work to do. I didn’t want to drive Koda’s car out of protest, but it ended up being convenient. There was so much running around and back and forth that I ended up needing it.

I usually try to keep everyone else confused, but now Koda is doing that to me. I don’t want to talk, but he somehow keeps making me do it. He’s trying to manipulate me, but I’m not a brainwashed barbie doll anymore. I can see straight through that shit. I’ll let him think it though.

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