Page 47 of Bully's Darkness
The door unlocks with a soft click, and I push it open like I’m stepping into a warzone.
Because I am.
Liv’s standing by the bed, stuffing clothes into a duffel, her face blotchy and red, eyes hollowed out like something’s already died in her. Something I killed. She freezes when she sees me. Not in fear . . . in fury.
“Liv,” I say, voice low. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” she snaps, zipping the bag closed like it’s final. Likewe’refinal.
My chest tightens. “Put it down.”
“No.”
She’s not crying anymore. This might be worse. The tears I can handle, but this silence, this steel . . . it terrifies me.
“Don’t do this,” I say. “Not like this.” I take a step towards her, but she flinches back like I’ve raised a hand. “I was going to tell you,” I say. “After all this, after tonight—”
“Bullshit. We’ve been here before, Bully.” Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry. “You always do this. You tell me the truth too late, when I can’t unhear it. When I’m already bleeding from it.”
“I can fix it.”
“Who is she?” she demands.
“She worked in the prison . . . on my wing.”
She pauses, her brow furrowing as she works it out, and then her eyes find me again, and the fury is replaced with hurt. “The one time I didn’t worry, and you were fucking someone on the inside? What was she, a cleaner? A visitor?” I shake my head, placing my hands on my hips. “Then who was she, Bully?” she screams, her face red with anger.
“A screw,” I mutter, breaking eye contact. “She worked the wing.”
Her sharp intake of breath is like another punch to the gut. “How is that possible?” Her words are low, barely a whisper.
“It happens more than you think,” I say, unhelpfully, and she screams in frustration, barrelling towards me like a woman possessed, raining blows against my chest with tight fists. “It was a mistake,” I repeat, trying to grab her wrists as her arms flail around, catching me on my cheek. When I finally grab her, she stills, her eyes burning into me like she’s trying to convey all her hatred in that one look.
Her chest heaves with exertion, and she pulls free, stepping back. “How many times do you get to call it a mistake before it’s a pattern?”
I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I was weak. I let her in when I should’ve kept my head down. It was hardly a thing at all before she got found out. She got fired, Liv. She lost everything.”
“Oh, poor her. Should I feel sorry for her?” she asks, her voice thick with sarcasm.
“Then she took her own life. And Dagger . . . he was her husband. But I didn’t know any of that until today.”
Realisation passes over her face. “I knew you were acting odd. I asked you outright.” I nod, more guilt seeping into my already saturated heart. “You had no intention of telling me at all,” shewhispers, her voice cracking slightly. “If you were going to, you’d have told me then . . . when I asked.”
I look away. “I was scared of losing you.”
“Pity you weren’t scared when you were fucking Dagger’s old lady.”
“I didn’t love her,” I say. “Lila. I swear to you, Liv, I didn’t. It was a mistake. A moment. A mess I made in a place where everything was already broken.”
“How long?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest. “Actually, how many times?”
I shrug, swallowing the dread in my throat. “Not long.”
“How many fucking times, Bully?”
I sigh heavily. “Maybe ten. Fifteen.”
“Wow.”
