Page 24 of The Cruelest Chaos
“No.”Just a girl locked in my basement.
She nods, as if to herself.
“And you?” I press. If she has a boyfriend, I’ll just throw him off of a cliff so I can keep fucking her. “Do you often cheat on your boyfriend with strange men you meet in the woods?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I just moved here a few weeks ago. And you weren’t strange. You were Natalie’s friend.” That’s probably the most words she’s said to me at one time.
“That’s pushing it.” I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “Natalie and I aren’t exactly friends. She dates my brother.”
Her eyes widen. “Atlas is your brother?”
Oh boy. “No, no. Not literally. I’ve just known him my whole life.”
She bites her lip, looking down at the table, as if she’s thinking.
“Where did you move from?” I ask her to get her out of her head. It seems when she disappears in there, she doesn’t talk much, and I’m not done asking her questions.
She squirms a little. “Originally? West Virginia. I move a lot.”
“Fuck boys everywhere you move?”
“Chase girls every night into the woods?”
“Maybe.”
She laughs, pushes her—my—bowl away. “Sometimes,” she admits, answering my question.
I don’t like the answer, but I don’t know why. I tell myself it’s because she’s just a kid. A kid I hit and fucked and bruised, but still.
“Let’s go upstairs.” I stand to my feet, chair legs scraping on the floor behind me.
She shifts in her seat. “I need to get home.”
“Work?”
She shakes her head.
“Parents?”
Another non-verbal ‘no’.
“Damn, okay, just spit it out then.”
“I just want to be alone. I don’t like to talk.”
I’m momentarily stunned into silence. Not many people would have the balls to say that to anyone they just met, let alone someone who just cooked for them, even if it was processed noodles.
I’m not entirely sure she’s even telling me the truth. It seems more like she wants to get away from me, but she likes me.
Maybe that’s why she wants to get away. I get that.
I flash her a smile. “Good. With my belt around your throat, you won’t be able to talk.”
* * *
Night comes too soon.
Ella seems to float down the stairs, as if whatever I did to her up there left her with a spring in her step instead of bruises on her skin.
