Page 76 of Marked

Twenty-four

Idon’t know how or when I arrived back home, but I’m here. I briefly wonder how many traffic laws I broke, how many things I hit. I blink and I’m in my bathroom, pulling my hoodie over my head. Dropping it carelessly onto the floor along with my bra. I untie the makeshift bandage around my thigh and remove my pants, wincing as I pull the blood matted cloth off the stab wound. I stare at the gaping hole and the fresh blood welling with indifference.

Taylor’s is much bigger.

I bite down on my trembling lip and slide the leggings down my bandaged calf. I look at Jack’s handy work for a second before my heart clenches with pain. Unable to stand the reminder, I rip off the bandages and ignore the pain as developing scabs tear away from the puncture wounds. I drop everything in a pile at my feet and turn to the mirror.

I’m covered in blood.

Most of it Taylor’s.

With a high pitched, desperate whine, I hurry to the shower. But as I fling open the curtain, I’m assaulted by vivid flashbacks of Jack. I can almost feel the cold tile against my nipples as he pressed me against the wall, the pleasure his thrusts brought as he powered into me. Worst, though, is when I remember how he held me as I sobbed, his cheek on my wet hair as I tried to pull myself back together.

“I’m here.”

That’s what he said to me, but where the fuck are you now, Jack?

Where are you when I’m truly broken?

With a frustrated scream, I turn back to my sink. Flipping the water on, I grab a towel and soak it in the cold water before scrubbing at my skin. I don’t wait for the water to get warm because I can’t. I have to get all this blood off me, have to wash away the evidence that tonight ever happened.

I leave the towel in the sink when I’m done, not able to stand the sight of the pink-tinged water. Robotically, I head to my closet and pull on a pair of panties, a tank top, and sweats that immediately get stained with fresh blood. Once I’m dressed, I turn to my bed and once again freeze when I see phantom images of Jack taking me there for the first time. In its wake are brief images of when Seth and I had sex there too.

Stupid, backstabbing fucking gods.

Nope.

With plans to burn my mattress and bedding tucked away for later, I head straight to my kitchen for a glass of water. My throat still burns from my purge, and I need something to wash down my regret that won’t sting more. As I lift a glass cup from the drying rack, I glance up at my cupboard of indulgences. The glass drops from my hand and shatters on the floor as I recall what’s still in there. I literally tear the cupboard door from its hinges as I fling open the cabinet.

Seth’s wine bottle stares back at me.

An inhuman scream tears itself from my throat as I grab the bottle by the neck and fling it into the sink with as much force as I can muster. Despite the shards of glass flying in every direction, all I care about is the pungent scent of blood and wine filling my nose. I turn away from the sink, but it’s too late. The headless victims on my whiteboard surface to the front of my mind, and my body spasms violently in response. My stomach roils and lurches, and my esophagus constricts until I’m bending over and throwing up straight bile onto my kitchen floor.

I’m gasping noisily between each wave, panic and disgust gripping each side of my chest and tugging it in opposite directions to make my pulse skyrocket. Tears are stinging my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. I wipe futilely at the bile-laced snot dripping from my nose with shaking hands.

When my purging quiets into useless dry heaving, I brace my hands on my knees and try to pull in deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Hesitantly, I turn towards the sink and gag at the sight of the wine. I quickly flip the tap up and let it run to try and wash down the liquid. I give it a full minute before I dare to look at the sink again. There’s a ton of pieces from the broken bottle in it, but at least most of the wine has gone down.

Pretending not to see the splatters of purple along the counter, I splash cold water onto my face, trying to cool down my burning skin. I then swish around some water in my mouth and spit it back into the sink, watching as it slides down the drain. With a groan, I turn off the water and glance down at the mess of my kitchen floor. I can’t ignore the clear glass shards from my cup or the drops and small puddles of wine. Black spots dance along my vision as my head swims.

I’m back in Seth’s kitchen.

My thigh is throbbing with pain and slick with blood. My heart, however, is squeezing as I watch Seth slit Taylor’s throat. The blood on the floor is mine to start with, but hers steadily joins mine. It’s spilling down, down her body, spilling and splashing into a puddle. Even then it doesn’t stop; it spreads all the way to me and sinks into my shoes. It’s deep now, almost to my ankles. When I turn to Jack for help, he leaves me despite me begging him to stay. Hurt but undeterred, I focus on Taylor again. I trudge through the blood, which now has the consistency of mud, determined to save my best friend.

Now, I’m bending over her. I’m holding her wound shut, but her eyes are closed and she’s barely breathing. I can save her. I can! Then there’s a muffled sound coming from under my hand, and I pull my hands back in surprise. The slash across her throat has become a wide mouth, the flaps of her skin moving like lips.

“You did this to me,” it says in Taylor’s voice.

“No, I—” I try to protest.

“No?!” she screeches at me. “If you hadn’t spread your legs for this demented god then I wouldn’t be dead!”

A pang of immense pain knocks the air of my lungs. “Dead?”

“Yes, Val, dead! What did you think would happen? He’s a god! You think he would miss severing my jugular?! You stupid bitch!”

Tears fall pitifully from my eyes. “I didn’t know, Tay. I didn’t know!”

“And that’s an excuse? You fucked him for two months. Two. Months. And you didn’t have any idea that he was a blood thirsty murderer? What kind of detective are you? A pathetic one, that’s what.”

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