Page 275 of Craving Venom

Maybe it’s what’s filling it.

In conclusion, the mind doesn’t always work in logic. It works in trauma. It works in silence. It simply works in survival.

I pause, blowing out a breath. My hoodie sleeves fall down over my hands as I type the next line.

I still don’t know why Zane Valehart did what he did. I’ve read the reports. Analyzed the footage. I’ve watched the interviews, listened to the tapes, examined his body language.

I glance down at the blanket covering my lap.

I sat in a room with him. And still, I don’t know.

My fingers hover over the keyboard.

The thing is… it should feel obvious. It should be easy to check a box that says monster or madman. But it isn’t.

It never was.

I type again.

Sometimes there isn’t a why. Sometimes people don’t need a reason to do awful things. Sometimes the answer isn’t in what they said or even what they did, but in what they were trying to silence.

My legs uncurl slightly. I shift back against the pillows, stretch my back. My shirt slides up, exposing the top of my hip where a bruise shaped like his hand is blooming dark and deep.

My pussy throbs again. It’s not desire. Not really. It’s leftover adrenaline.

Maybe Zane didn’t kill them because of anger. Maybe it wasn’t revenge or a break or even bloodlust. Maybe it wasn’t even about them.

I pause.

My hands are trembling again.

Maybe it was about being seen. Maybe it was about not disappearing. Maybe it was about control. Maybe…

I stare at the screen. My breathing slows.

My fingers move again.

…maybe it wasn’t him.

I stop.

My throat tightens.

I delete the last sentence. All of it and rewrite it.

…maybe the story doesn’t always begin where we think it does.

I end the paragraph there.

My phone vibrates on the desk, and I glance down.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

I don’t need a name.

I know it’s him.

I let it buzz once more before I flip the screen over, face-down.

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