Page 14 of Voracious

A man who murders his own wife can’t find a god merciful enough to accept him, otherwise there’s no justice. A god who forgives one person’s sins without taking into account the person they wronged isn’t real, it’s a fantasy that people sell themselves to feel better about their pathetic lives.Mercy and justice are the right and left hand of judgement, someone’s plea for mercy is another’s injustice and some people don’t deserve the former.

Ana’s weird ass behavior gets my attention as she wraps the scratchy sheet around her legs. The back of her gown is open, revealing scars on top of scars. There’s not even an inch of unmarred skin from the middle of her back to the band of her pale pink panties. A part of me fractures witnessing the aftermath of what she’s experienced, they’re old. All healed and stretched, showing how young she was when they were inflicted. She shuffles, knocking her hair away from the middle and uncovering the mermaid in the middle of her back.

Child molester.

A forced fucking tattoo given to a kid for a life she had no fucking control of.

The urge to take her into my arms is new and uncomfortable. She’d definitely stab me, but I’ve seen her anger when we go on missions, or when she finds her own targets. She’s a hellion, but she has her line and it’s dictated by innocence. Blinking away the emotion threatening to choke me, I pull my phone out, tapping randomly as she swings her legs up and sits up on the bed. It’sfucked up that I want to tell her she’s wrapped her lower half as a mermaid when the image was forcefully etched into her skin.

She relaxes, falling into her creepy meditation technique, and her lips twitch as though she’s exercising her muscles to be able to smile. Her voice is weighted with sleep just like her features as she says, “I’m leaving here in two days.”

The doctor has already said she needs to be in for a week and I’m the one footing the bill, so I’d know this shit. She opens one eye and manages to narrow it as I lean back, propping my feet up on the edge of the railing for comfort.

I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why?”

Whatever drugs are currently running through her system have her lucid enough to speak but dulled enough that her anger can’t come out.

“I’ve got my invite, Nina’s going to be there.”

She looks so fragile as she opens both eyes and stares at me with hope. This is who she is without the violence, a person I actually want to be around.

“Where’s Nina going to be?”

She doesn’t pause when I dig for more information and actually gives it. “TRR, it’s online. But I’ll see her and remember what she looks like.” Her voice softens, pulling me in as she lightly taps the side of her head. “I don’t see pictures, only words go into the files.” She stares through me, and her whisper is barely audible, making me strain my ears to pick it up. “Someone might smile at me again.”

I’m a grown ass man who has seen some fucked up shit but my vision blurs at the deep sadness in her voice. Over a fucking smile, something so small and insignificant. She could go into a coffee shop and a barista would automatically lift their lips around a hello.

Forcing my cheeks to move, I try to smile at her, but her lashes flutter. I’m closer to her and the bruising is harsh, eachknuckle has left its mark overlapping each other. I ghost over each mark with my thumb for no other reason than it has my attention when her face shatters. There’s no sob or tears and I stand uselessly. The horrors that live inside her head are coming out, history flickering on and off while she flinches at nothing.

My fingers get tangled at her crown as I stroke her hair back. I end up doing more fucking damage as I try to pull them free, and the strands leave with my hand. I’ve just ripped a chunk of her fucking hair out like a dickhead. Being gentler, I only use the flat of my hand and keep stroking her hair, careful not to let my fingers run through it.

Fuck. She’s not looking after herself. Her hair is brittle and sounds rough against my palm, the capillaries over her eyelids are bright red, showing she’s dehydrated, and her collar bones protrude. I have no claim over her to be able to demand she eats or sleeps, but I act like I do and circle her wrist with my fingers. There’s space even when I use my little finger. For fuck’s sake, how the fuck is she alive? She just survives off killing people and the idea that one day she’ll find girl we all know is dead. She’s spent too long searching for someone who no one even knows exists.

There are no long sleeves covering the ink on her arm, and it doesn’t match any specific theme. The only bit of color is a deep, crimson rose cluster. Three buds in different stages of growth, none of them are fully opened. It skips the step from a closed bud to weak petals and then decay. The rest of her sleeve is all black and gray, an octopus wrapped around a gothic building with stained-glass windows. There are skulls mixed into the design which don’t surprise me considering it’s the hellion’s arm, but the butterflies landing on their temples are unexpected. Moving up her bicep, there’s the stages of the moon hidden on the inside closest to her ribs.

I recognize the work with Natasha having done some of mine. But none of these are in her portfolio, they’re the one thing Ana keeps to herself and protects. Lifting the sheet, I cover her arm, so it’s not seen by anyone else, so she isn’t exposed despite there being no script and the meaning only being in her head.

My heart fucking cracks right down the middle as I sit back in the chair at her bedside and Ana turns on her side. She’s facing me and asleep, her hand stretching across her chest so she can pat her own back and soothe herself. Blowing out a shaky breath to control my emotions, I promise her that I’ll ease up. I’ll stop pointing out that she’s annoying as fuck and how we’ll celebrate her death. I’ll even smile at her, so she has someone do it again because the one act of watching her pat her own back is killing me. She doesn’t stop doing it and her lips slowly lift into the softest, most innocent smile I’ve ever witnessed.

I don’t want to disturb her peace and cross my arms to stop myself from copying her movements. This isn’t the same person who kicked me in the dick after jumping out of a window, it’s someone gentler and hurt.I can’t align the images of her with blood on her face or how she plays with her torture victims against the woman in front of me tapping each finger individually against her shoulder and smiling to herself.

It hits me then — she does everything herself. She talks to herself, fights herself, and soothes herself.

My plan tobe nice to the crazy fuck lasts as long as the drugs in her system. I don’t move out of her way, blocking the door as she rages.

“Get back in bed,” I grit. “You’re not allowed to leave yet.”

Ana doesn’t bristle at my tone and takes it as a challenge. Her eyes lock on to the window and I hold the back of her head, pulling her to my chest so she can’t jump out of it.

She freezes for a split second with her fists raised but not touching me. The bruising is slowly fading, not enough for her to be on a new bloody rampage. Her body vibrates with rage, and she punches into my kidneys as she spits, “Don’t touch me.”

Fuck me, her little fists can do damage even with the restrictive space. My arm loosens enough for her to pull back and there’s hair wrapped around my fingers, again.

The hellion snatches them off my hand and puts them in her pocket. Weird fuck. Seeing that I’m going to be on her ass as soon as she takes a step, she uses her mouth to get me to move.

“I have to get things ready for the stream, I can’t miss it, or I’ll never be allowed back in.”

There’s nothing I could find about TRR or whatever bullshit she’s managed to find herself in the middle of. My tongue moves before I’ve fully thought out the compromise.

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