Page 77 of Marked

I wrap my arms around myself as I feel my body rock back and forth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Then, to make matters worse, I warned you to break it off with him, didn’t I? Maybe you should have fucking listened to me! Gods, you’re so stupid!”

“I am,” I agree, still crying. “I am.”

The neck-mouth scoffs at me. “And then you start to fall for another god. Gods, you dunce, didn’t you learn with the first one?”

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“Because you’re stupid, remember? Keep up, idiot.” Her tone turns exasperated. “At least Anubis knew that you were more trouble than what you’re worth. He wasted no time in leaving your broken ass behind, did he?”

“No,” I mumble.

“Exactly. What was it that you once asked me? Oh, I remember: what can I really offer him? I was trying to be nice at the time because you’re so pitiful, but the answer is nothing, Val. Nothing good at least. You come with baggage and damage. Of course, he would split at the first opportunity! I would have too.” A heavy sigh comes from the skin-lips. “But I didn’t get a chance to leave you on my own, did I?”

I swallow thickly. “No.”

“No,” comes the mocking echo. “Instead, I got killed by your murdering fuck buddy. Oh, if I didn’t say so already, thanks again for that by the way. Either way, at least I’m free from your sorry ass.”

“I’m sorry.” I squeeze my eyes tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry!” I shout and startle awake. Blinking, it takes me a second to realize I’m staring up at a kitchen light fixture. Fear seizes my chest when I think I’m still in Seth’s apartment, but a quick scan of my surroundings tells me I’m in my own kitchen.

Rolling over onto my side, my head spins and pulses with pain. I touch the back of my head, and it comes away bloody. It was the same place I hit my head when Ammit attacked me, but why would it be bleeding again? And why does it hurt?

Whether it was exhaustion, or stress, or a combination of the two, I must have fainted.

One thing is for sure, my unconscious is not a place I want to be. It’s too hurtful. Too real. But, just how real is it? Is Taylor dead? I look around for my phone, but I don’t think I brought it into the kitchen with me. But, even if I had it, I don’t think I can actually make the call. What if my nightmares are right?

I can’t handle it. I’m not strong enough. I need a blank, black void to rest in.

Using the lip of the sink, I grab it and hoist myself to my feet. With shaking hands, I carefully reach and pull down each one of my seven alcohol bottles. Not having the energy to go anywhere, I gather them up in my arms as if I’m hugging an old friend and sit down. Resting my back against the cabinets, I unscrew the cap of a fresh bottle of whisky and take a hearty gulp.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and toss the cap somewhere into the kitchen. I won’t need it since I plan on finishing the bottle. My eyes fall on a puddle of wine near my feet, and I sputter out a curse. Before the images can plague me, I bring the bottle to my lips again and chug down a good amount. Maybe I can swallow down the nightmares of tonight.

Before I know it, I’m more than halfway through the bottle and my eyes are drooping. But behind my eyelids are the images from tonight. With a wail, I force my eyes back open and down the rest of the bottle, not caring that some dribbles out from the corners of my lips. I roll the empty bottle away from me and press my palms hard against my eyes.

Once again, I’m in Seth’s kitchen, watching as he slits Taylor’s throat over and over again. Each time he does, her neck spits its spiteful truths at me as the kitchen fills up with blood. This time, however, Taylor’s eyes are open and glaring at me with pure hate. Seth is laughing at my distress as the blood rises to my knees, Jack looking on apathetically. Every time I turn to him for help, he adorns his jackal headdress and disappears.

“Jack.” His name is a cry on my lips as I come to on my kitchen floor once again.

Sitting up, I wipe away the tears and reach for another bottle.

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