Page 138 of Only for Him
Shit, that’s assuming Arata doesn’t get to me first.
At least he hasn’t reached out yet. Either he’s not onto me, or he’s onto me so hard that he’s building a case in silence. A case against Roman, which means a case against me.
That’s not what you’re worried about. You’re worried because nothing can hurt Roman except, maybe, you. And that’s a horrible kind of power to hold.
It’s bad enough to get the reminders of the relatively normal life I used to live but knowing Roman can see them too is even worse. Nothing I do now is private, because Iknowhe’s bugged my fucking phone.
As he should.
Doesn’t he deserve the truth of what I did?
Maybe then he’ll finally let me go.
You can go anytime you want. There’s no curse keeping you here. You won’t spontaneously combust if you step foot off the property.
Fine, then maybe I’ll finally have a good enough reason to leave.
Because this? This can’t be my life.
It might be what I want but that doesn’t mean it’s good for me.
But then I think of how alive I feel every time Roman’s hands are on me, every time his knife carves away a little more of the rot from this city. I didn’t realize how fucking tired I was of pretending I didn’t want this, until Roman made it so that I didn’t have to.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Serena staring at me like she wants to know what the hell I think I’m doing. Would she be proud of me? Would she want vengeance like this? Or would she be horrified?
I wish she could tell me. I wish anyone could.
Thick tears prickle the edges of my eyes. I clutch the sheets closer to my chest and bury my face in them. She wouldn’t want this. She forgave everyone for everything. She once tried to save a bee that had stung her.
If she was here, she’d already have walked away.
My heart cracks in two at the thought. The pain is bigger than the darkness, bigger than Roman, bigger than my own life. It makes me feel like my blood is taffy, too slow and thick to circulate. My lungs won’t fill. The air isn’t for me anymore, I’m not allowed to use it.
Please,I beg myself.Please, please, stop, stop thinking, just stop thinking, stop feeling, stop, stop, for fuck’s sake just STOP!
I slide out of bed and stand by the window, looking out at the dark grounds. Manhattan sparkles in the near-distance, pretending at peace.
It’s not personal. I’m sorry.
I want to believe none of this is personal, that I’m just doing my job, even if my job is now murder. But every time I kill one of them, I feel less human and I want it more.
Surely, he’ll eventually run out of men to bring me, right?
The wholegoddamncity couldn’t have something to do with my sister.
Maybe tonight was the beginning of the end.
Maybe he’s running out of real monsters, and the schoolteacher was the first of the dregs: men who were evil, yeah, but not fully culpable. At some point, am I going to be killing men who considered paying for her but decided to go home instead?
If Icouldkill every man who touched Serena, what would I do after?
Who would I be without my hatred to fuel me?
There will always be more. Other girls. A Dakota, a Rosa. Serena was my sister, but every girl is someone’s sister, or daughter, or mother or best friend. The list of monsters grows every single day.
Forget the Bratva. There willalwaysbe men laying their hands on women. Ivan slapping my ass and MacDougal with his interns, even before they became enablers for the Bratva. The world is too big and dirty for it to ever end.
I can punish so many of them, in exactly the way they deserve to be punished, but not all of them. And I can’t punish the ones who haven’t done it yet, but will soon enough.
