Page 161 of The Ruthless Note

When I'm finished breaking everything that I can break, I walk slowly up to Dutch's guitar.

The bat rattles on the ground as I drag it behind me. The surface is only a little chipped from all the destruction.

A memory of Dutch playing guitar rings through my head. He’d looked so tall and in control. A beautiful beast restrained by music. Drawing everyone into his world. Into his pain. Using only an instrument with six strings and his poetic fingers.

I approach those strings and take out a sharp knife.

This is sacrilege.

As one musician to another, I know how sacred an instrument is to its owner. Which is why Dutch pouring honey over my piano that time hurt so much.

I’m only returning the favor.

I cut the first string and it snaps back with a satisfyingtwang.Even in death, it still manages to make a beautiful sound.

I cut the second and watch it curl up into itself.

The third string.

The fourth string.

The fifth.

The sixth.

It springs back broken and bruised and sharp on the edges, just like Dutch’s stare. That sweeping, calculating gaze of his that delves into the soul with a flint-like focus.

I should be scared, but all I feel inside is sick, twisted contentment.

I wish I could see his face when he finds his guitar, but it’s Friday night. He probably won’t even realize the deed’s been done until Monday.

Satisfied and spent, I drop my knife carelessly on the ground and head home.

Vi is in the kitchen making a sandwich when I enter. She stops when she sees my face, her bright eyes sliding down my dark outfit. “Where have you been? And why are you so sweaty?”

“I went for a jog.”

“In a black T-shirt and jeans?”

I smile woodenly at her. Being back at home with my little sister makes me feel like I’m living a double life. The darkness that had flooded me when I destroyed Dutch’s practice room is now meeting the light of Vi’s presence.

It’s conflicting.

That light and darkness.

And it hurts a little. Like two worlds trying to collide.

“Do you want some water?” Vi asks, pursing her red lips.

I nod and watch her. She’s been experimenting with ‘faux freckles’. Apparently, it’s a ‘big trend’ and I ‘just don’t get it’.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m a middle-aged woman trapped in a teenager’s body because I honestly don’t understand half of what my sister says.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“What?” I ask wearily. The water is cold going down my throat. It helps to relieve the heat trapped in my veins.

“I did a collab with Zane last night.”

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