Page 86 of Doesn't Count

He clenches the front of my shirt now, bringing my face to his. Metal reeks inside his mouth, his teeth stained red, the thought alone of him doing what I think he did has me heaving.

“Either you drop them, or I will.” He threatens, releasing me with a shove. “May I remind you, boy, that the only way you leave here tonight is by joining my dearest daughter.” He points to the dead girl. “Or as a part of this family. Your choice.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, hatred blinding me to the point where all I can see is red. I’ve killed the wrong person tonight and now it’s too late. He’s taken back the knife, my only hope. There’s no chance I'm getting out of this unscathed. For a minute, I mull over the idea of dying. At the very least, I wouldn’t have to endure any more of this repulsive horror.

But to die means leaving behind my mother, my real father, Ash...

I can’t do it, I’m a fucking coward! I’m weak! I’m selfish.

My fingers shake so intensely, it takes several tries to unbutton my shorts. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when they fall around my ankles, but it can’t be anything good.

A nasty smile cuts acrossFather’sface as his eyes dartbetween my legs, my hands trying to hide myself from pedophile eyes.

“Now, rid yourself of that burden you’re holding onto. You don’t need your virginity where you’ll be going.”

“Jesus.” Ash mutters, bringing me back to reality.

My mouth gapes open, the fear of rejection consuming me. When I look back down at my hands, they’re shaking violently, but they’re not red anymore. They’re rugged, weathered hands attached to a tormented man. A man who’s escaped.

“I-I didn’t think I had a choice.” I whisper and am met with silence. “I should have just died.”

“Khaos,” my name cuts out of her mouth like a slap on the wrist. “You did what you had to do.”

I shake my head until my vision blurs, tears filling my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. The vulnerability, the self-hatred, the mortification I feel right now is enough to make me want to end everything here and now. If I dare to look Ash in the face and find revulsion in her stare, then there will be no tomorrow.

Before I muster the courage to look at her, vomit forces its way up and out of my mouth. My hand catches it just long enough to spew everything into the toilet in my bathroom. I let it all out, purging my food, my drinks, my memories. All of it down the toilet.

When there’s nothing left inside of me and the dry heaving quells, I slump against the wall. My eyes feel heavy and my throat burns, but worst of all, my heart feels shattered. Minutes pass by with my own thoughts tormenting me, telling me what a piece of shit I am. That I deserve a fate much worse than the girl I’ve killed.

There’s a reason I don’t talk about my past. Besides the fact that it’s not exactly a fun story to share, but reliving those days is enough to end me. I didn’t escape for nothing. I’ve found lifeon the other side and somehow, little by little, happiness started to find me. So, I learned to shove those memories down, suppress them so deep into my subconscious that they seem like distant nightmares, and it’s worked, up until now as my past sits here facing me... judging me.

Ashton

I sit there at the edge of the bed, stunned. I don’t know how to process the information he’s just given me, let alone how to feel about it.

Khaos... murdered someone. But, not only murdered... I can’t wrap my brain around it.

I’m horrified by his confession, so much so, it doesn’t even register with me that the soundtrack to my racing thoughts is of him retching from trauma. Suddenly, all these terrible thoughts of what he’s done start to fade as I catch a glimpse of him sobbing in the bathroom. I almost feel guilty, like I should feel bad for not consoling him. It wasn’t his fault after all, but it’s a lot to throw on a person. Especially, one that’s not your therapist.

By the time Khaos is slumped against the wall, I muster the courage to face him. Slowly, I inch my way over to where he’s sitting as if I might scare him away, but he doesn’t move. Crouching down, I lift one of his arms across my shoulder and help him stand. He does so obediently, without ever looking atme, shame coloring his face, bleeding through his body movements.

I lay him down on the bed, crawling in beside him. “Have you ever told anyone else?”

He shakes his head silently.

“Why me?”

There’s a long pause as he breathes heavily, like it takes an insurmountable amount of effort to speak.

“I-I don’t know.” He admits. “You’re like this blinding light in the darkness. It was too bright at first, too much for me to handle and then my eyes adjusted. You let me dim you just the smallest bit and I have this urge now to savor your light. To let it inside and hold me, to show me the way out of my nightmares.”

“You’re light?” I question, wondering...

“You’ve always been my light.” He murmurs.

He’s delirious.

“I’ve only known you for a few months.” I remind him.

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