Page 11 of Reaper & Ruin
She shook her head as she got to her feet, heading closer to me. “I wish that were true.”
“He’s a good person.” I breathed as my body started to tingle. “And I’ve heard him having nightmares. He hates himself for abandoning you. For letting you stay behind and he…” My eyes rolled, dizziness taking over already. “He would save you next time. If he had to.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Blue. The only person who’s going to save me is me.” She leaned down and trailed her fingers over my cheekbone. “But that’s okay, because I’m going to do it. I’m going to get out of this life, and I’m going to use your boy toys to do it.”
“Please don’t hurt them.” My head lolled, eyes grew heavy. “They’re all I have.”
“I’ll hurt anyone to get what I want. Even myself.” She whispered. “So I can’t promise that. But don’t worry. There are always lots of twists in my games. Maybe you’ll manage to find one that doesn’t let the game finish with Atlas’ heart in my hands, and Reaper’s head on my lawn.”
With that delightful image, I passed right out into the darkness, entirely unaware of the threat that was coming.
Entirely unaware that I had met Brick, been kidnapped, or that there was a woman hellbent on ruining Atlas’ life hiding in the shadows, just waiting for her time to strike.
Chapter Four, Narrator
There came a point in every woman’s life where she realized she had officially become her own worst enemy. For me, that point was when I tried to roll over in bed and found myself stuck because I had, at some point during my three-day hibernation, swaddled myself in my quilt so tightly that I resembled a human sushi roll. Or a burrito.
A burrito made of death and despair. Not white girl seasoned chicken that lacked all heat, and had enough sour cream to kill a dozen lactose intolerant bitches.
Unfortunately for me, the Heather burrito was alive and, regrettably, still kicking. It didn’t rot away into nothingness like I wanted it to. Even if I had that one night a few days ago, where I’d woken up on the couch with an insatiable itch in my nose, and a headache that lasted almost two days.
I shifted awkwardly, my cocoon rustling as I attempted to figure out where the edge of the quilt had gone. As I struggled, I could almost hear the voice of David Attenborough narratingmy predicament. Thanks to all the documentaries Giovanni De Stupid had been watching in the lounge, loud enough for me to hear.
I did my best Attenborough voice.
“And here we observe the rare and elusive Heather, a creature known for its reclusive tendencies and unparalleled ability to wallow in its own misery. This particular specimen appears to have nested in what can only be described as a catastrophic depression den.”
Finally, I managed to wriggle free, my feet hitting the floor with all the grace of a toddler taking their first steps. My knees cracked, reminding me that three days in bed doesn’t do much for your joints. Especially when you were twenty-six, so naturally your knees cracked when you even thought about walking or standing up.
I sat there on the edge of the mattress, clutching the quilt around me like some kind of makeshift armor, and stared at the door. The idea of venturing beyond my room felt like preparing for battle. Somewhere out there were Gio and Atlas, and I wasn’t sure I had the energy to deal with either of them. But staying here wasn’t an option anymore. I was starting to feel less like a person and more like an urban legend.
With a resigned sigh, I heaved myself up and shuffled toward the door, quilt still firmly wrapped around me. I didn’t bother looking in the mirror as I passed it. I didn’t need to see the dishevelled mess of neon blue hair and regret that was undoubtedly staring back. Instead, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, narrating my progress in my head as if I were in a nature documentary once again.
It was more fun to pretend to be a wild creature than a real loser.
“The Heather approaches the edge of its territory, cautiously testing the boundaries of its domain. Notice thesluggish movements and the avoidance of reflective surfaces—a clear indication of its fragile state.”
The hallway stretched ahead of me as I did my best to sneak. The wooden floor creaked under my weight, each step amplified like a bitch rudely announcing my presence. I kept the quilt wrapped tightly around me, its fabric trailing on the floor like a ridiculously oversized cape. Maybe it would shield me from whatever was waiting out there. Or maybe it just made me look like an eccentric ghost. Either way, I wasn’t letting it go.
I had already lost my sanity. I couldn’t give up my comfort blankie too.
I paused at the edge of the main room, peering around the corner like a fugitive scoping out the terrain. The cabin was quiet, but I knew better than to trust that. Gio and Atlas were likely lurking somewhere, waiting to pounce with concerned questions or, worse,sympathy. I wasn’t ready for either. Sympathy was a minefield. One wrong step, and I’d explode into a mess of tears and snot, and no one wanted to deal with that.
Eyes narrowed for danger, I shuffled forward, my quilt rustling softly as I moved. The room was the same warm wood and cozy vibes I’d left it in. But it felt far bigger than before. Almost like my mind had forgotten about the space beyond the bed.
There was a whole Earth out there. A flat one, if the moron podcast men were to be believed. A round one if I remembered I had brains nestled somewhere deep in the crevices of my pretty head.
My current Earth was not as empty as I would have liked it to be. There were loser boys inside of it, their stink permeating the air.
My gaze darted toward the couch, where Gio sat with his legs sprawled out like he owned the place. His head was tilted back, eyes half-closed, but I knew better than to think he wasactually asleep. Henevernapped without me. He said he was too grown up for them. In reality, it was probably because he was a man. Men could never take a few minutes to just shut the fuck up and stay in one spot.
Atlas was in the kitchen, his back to me as he fiddled with something on the counter. He moved with the kind of efficiency that suggested he was either making food or chopping up a corpse. Maybeboth. Either way, I wasn’t sticking around to find out. Not when I knew he would mother me and make me ugly cry again.
They’d both felt extra caring since the headache incident. Like the fact we’d all woken up feeling like shit was a sign of the apocalypse, and instead of being normal about it they were smothering me.
I enjoyed being smothered, but only by a large hand or two when I was being fucked. But on days when I wanted to be normal, it only made it harder to pretend.
I clutched the quilt tighter and kept my head down, determined not to make eye contact as I whispered to myself.
