Page 30 of Unorthodox
I put a gun in her mouth, and she didn’t react how most people would in a situation like that.
Fuck.
I rake my hands through my hair—something I’d only ever do when I’m alone—and then I stand.
Fuck it. In two weeks, if she’s still here, I’ll go to the party, and I’ll drag her with me.
It’s good to have an outlet every once in a while.
Dante is watching me.
I’m sprinting on the treadmill, sweat dripping down my back, over my brow, into my eyes. I wipe the back of my hand over my face, keep running even though my lungs feel like they might collapse.
Ben’s head, the gunshot, Max.
It all plays like a twisted movie in my head, and I run faster.
I’ve been running for years. With a father who didn’t believe in mental illnesses and nannies that thought locking me in my room would cure my panic attacks, running was the only outlet.
I actually ran away from home once.
That didn’t last long. I didn’t get past the guards around my father’s property.
Another time, I offered a guard a blowjob in exchange for my freedom. I did a few things like that. I invited the men that were supposed to protect me into my bed. Let them stain my sheets and use me how they wanted, hoping to get away.
It never worked out in my favor.
But I still did it.
Even when I knew I wouldn’t escape, it made me feel something my father never did—wanted.Loved.Where my father didn’t give me a say in the matter, fucking my guards, I told myself, was my choice.
Distracting me from those memories is another more recent one.
Max could have killed me.
Ben’s head, the gunshot, Max.
Over. And over. And over.
I close my eyes, nearly tripping and losing my balance, going as fast as I am. But before I can fall, as my eyes spring open, a hand is on my arm.
I grab the console of the treadmill, position my feet on either side of the belt to steady myself, and try to catch my breath. I feel my face warm from the near-accident, and when I meet Dante’s green-brown eyes, the flush spreads down my neck, up to my ears.
Dante keeps his hand circled around my arm, reaches across me to turn the treadmill off. Slowly, the belt comes to a stop.
The only sound in the pristine, well-lit gym on the second floor, looking out over the pool, is my breathing, and the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
I swallow, avert my eyes. I’ve only ever been around Dante when I was with Ben, or Max. And Ben’s rules were clear. Until they weren’t.
Ben is dead.
I cringe, my body tensing as I close my fingers around the hand grip of the treadmill, my other arm still in Dante’s grip.
I think about Ben’s head coming apart. The warmth of what was always supposed to be on the inside spraying against the outside of my skin.
How many more weeks? How many more people will die in this house?
Someone will come for me.My mind whispers these words over and over, although I’m not sure my mind is all there anymore.
