Page 167 of Jagged Souls
My eyes fall to the glass bottles tossed beside her. To the addiction that’s dug into her veins.
“I need to get you out of here.”
“No,” she cries, still riding her fingers. “Let me stay, big daddy. Let me stay, and I’ll fuck you real good.”
Ignoring the throbbing of my cock, I thank the gods she’s not in heat. I pick up the bottles she has lined up on the bed, then throw them at the wall. They smash into pieces, and she screams like I’ve hit her.
“Stop!” she shrieks. “I’ve been good! I’ve sucked off all your friends. They fuck me whenever they want! Why are you doing this to me!”
She sits up as I peel off my shirt. She scrambles towards the wall and tries to lick the dripping liquid, but I grab her arm and pull her back.
“Siome, it’s me! I need to get you out of here.”
“No!”
I force my shirt on her, then lift her up and throw her over my shoulder.
“Get off me!” she screams as she pummels her fists into my back.
She bites me. Kicks me. Starts to cry.
Her tears have always stabbed like knives, and hearing them after eighty-two years of nothing is fucking lethal, but I push through the pain as I stumble out of the house.
“The V!” she screams. “At least go back for the V!”
Fifty
HER
I sag down the wall as soon as he releases me. The fact he named his children weighs me down like a cinderblock around my feet. He’s a monster. And yet even he is a better parent than me.
My heart breaking, I rasp, “I need some V.”
“Why?” The word is short, clipped, a simple demand, but the heft of it is too much. An anchor to those cinderblocks.
A sob ruptures from me as I lean my head against the wall. “Ithurts.”
“What does?”
I slam my fist against my chest – once, twice, my mouth twisted in pain, unable to speak. I drop my hand to my belly, wishing I could feel her again.
Terrified I’ll feel something else, I rip my hand away.
My tears come faster. I can’t do this. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. I don’t want tofeel.
“Tell me.”
My throat closes. This is worse than anything Sadist has forced me to do. Worse than what I did to Bear. I flinch, hating the comparison, but that request just asked me to violate me and my morals. These questions? This incessant demand that I confront my own guilt? Myloss.
Ican’t.
Then she’ll really be gone, and I’ll just be left with the truth of the monster in my belly. I know she’s dead. I know he killed her, but these questions will lead to the first step of healing. To letting her go.
AndI can’t.
She’s my baby.
She’s my baby.
