Page 14 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
I don’t walk away, though, but I can’t look at her.
She is perfect in every way and there is nothing I can give her. I would only trap her, dissect her, keep her, kill her.
“Wait, don’t go.” Her voice is still so hoarse, low and quiet and scared.
I close my eyes and inhale the October air.
Sweat drips along my spine.
I don’t want to go, but I don’t know how to stay.
I can’t say that, either. I can’t say anything.
I…can’t.
I have to go home.
Stein is right, I know. I don’t belong out here. No one will understand me, and they will only laugh and if she ever truly saw me for who and what I am, she would scream. She would run.
I can’t have this little piece of sun in my life unless she is dead, a body in a jar, and I am not brave enough for that.
Not yet.
Chapter9
Karia
“Inever hurt you.” I find my voice again as he begins to tuck me in underneath the light, soft sheet. He starts at my shoulders, pressing the fabric around me, stuffing it beneath my arms, elbows, wrists. Methodically, he does the same to my hips, thighs, calves, feet. Cotton tight around my naked body, his shadow hovering over my face, the sting of my lips from his half-bite the realest thing about this moment.
My eyes flutter behind closed lids but I can’t even turn my head, let alone see. My mouth is dry, and my lips feel clumsy, and everything is so veryheavy.
“I never…” I trail off because I cannot continue. It is taking too much effort to simplybreathe,let alone speak or reason or explain to him.
He touches my temple, smoothing back my hair from my face. There is leather on his fingers now;gloves.He wore those too, as he grew older, although he tried to hide that he did, with his hands pushed into the pocket of his hoodie.
Unlike his twisted kiss from before, his touch now is gentle. Almosthesitant.He loops my strands behind my ear, skimming over the tip of my cartilage, sending cold shivers down my throat, my back, across my chest, tightening my nipples into hard, heavy points.
Then he rests one hand along my cheekbone, cradling my face softly.
I want to say something, ask a question, understand where I am, if this is reality, or if I can hold onto the illusion of a dream.
His breath is over my mouth as he leans in, and I catch the scent of nothing. He is not chewing gum or eating mints, it doesn’t seem as if he has just brushed his teeth, but his breath is clean and absent of anything. There is, however, the aroma of wilting roses and damp earth around him. It is divine in its unholiness and as I inhale him, comfort and danger both spark inside of my chest, pushing my pulse to that of a frightened rabbit’s.
“Oh, that is not true,” he says, voice so throaty, it sounds inhuman.
I feel my eyes move beneath my lids, wishing desperately tosee,but I can’t. Since he seemed to have flipped a light switch, even the green is gone, and there is only gloom around us.
His thumb strokes over my bottom lip, his touch light and scarce. I taste the leather of his glove, like new shoes and thick smoke. I’ve never consumed either, but I imagine if I had, it would be like this.
“I didn’t.” A sliver of relief pulses through me when I can speak again. “I…looked for you. I invited you. I always wanted to talk to you.”
Aggressively, more sure, he presses his thumb to the center of my mouth, over both lips, like he wants to sew them closed. He pulls back; I can sense the cold air shift around him. “The first time Stein saw me watching you from my window, he flayed the flesh along my bicep and pushed a candy wrapper inside before he stitched it over. He laughed as he pressed his latex-gloved hand along my arm, listening to the crinkle. ‘Peach chews,’ he said, and I realized he was sucking on the one that came from the wrapper under my skin.”
Revulsion is a visceral reaction in my body. My stomach tightens and a wave of sickness—hot and sticky—washes over me. I cannot stop myself from parting my lips, a dry wretch coming up my throat, the sound audible over the hum of a fan inside the room.
But Sullen’s finger is there, and he pushes it inside my mouth, pressing down on my tongue, the taste of leather thick and soft and unnatural along my tastebuds.
My stomach swirls with nausea but I don’t heave again as he then moves his finger to the underside of my top teeth, dragging it slowly along the grooves of my molars. My mouth begins to water, saliva dripping from the corner of my lips, and I am not breathing.
