Page 141 of Anathema Codex

It doesn't seem possible that I'm still breathing, but not even my worst nightmares have lasted this long.

Liar. You haven't hated it here.

For some reason, that thought hurts so much more than the rest, and I slip down in the tub, getting my hair wet and staying under the water, holding my breath as if I can hide from the truth of that random thought. The flickering moments of 'good' amidst all the bad make me feel more guilty than anything else. If every minute with Lakyn was suffering, at least I'd have an excuse for not doing more to find Bea, to reach out to her... but it hasn't been all bad.

As much as I hate when he hurts me, there is a part of me that loves feeling him stretch me and fill me up with his merciless thrusts. I can't deny the thrill I get when he tosses me around in bed, making it clear just how much stronger he is, and I don't know if it's the years of brutal fucking or my own twisted mind, but even the pain of being used by Lakyn has become something my body craves. My dick twitches under the surface of the water and I sit up, gasping for air as I drop the soap and cradle my head in my hands.

My best friend in the world is dead, and I'm fantasizing about the bastard that killed her.

The monster who wanted to know if I'd seen his 'hard work.'

Asshole.

I know how much he wanted me to look at Bea's head, and even though I did—and I'll be haunted by the memory of her vacant eyes forever—I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how bad it hurt. As far as Lakyn knows, I've never opened the cooler, never looked at his handiwork, never ruined my memory of her beautiful face.

God, I wish I could hate him.Tears burn my eyes as the thought twists like a knife in my gut and I press the heels of my hands against my eyes to stop them. I don't want to love Lakyn Meyer, he's never done a goddamn thing to earn my love or my loyalty, and no matter how beautiful he still is... he doesn't deserve my heart. I'd say that he doesn't deserve me, except I'm not worth much at all, to anyone, and even as angry as I am I can't lie to myself about that.

I've never been worth much.

Born as trash in the gutter, I lived like trash for years, turned to drugs to try and mask the pain, but it only made things harder, made me more desperate whenever the withdrawal would hit.

And then Bea found me. She tried to help. To feed me, to support me.

But Lakyn is the one that gave you a home, fed you, clothed you, and kept you sober.

A groan rolls out of me as I kick at the water, splashing more than a little of it out of the tub, but I can't bring myself to care as I dump too much shampoo into my hand and slap it onto my head, scrubbing at my scalp and digging my nails in as if the aggressive scrubbing will somehow wash the traitorous thoughts from my mind.

I'm a horrible person.

I'm still trash even if I'm not on the streets anymore.

And I'm still a whore even though the only dick I serve is Lakyn Meyer's.

I drop back into the water, splashing even more of it out, and I rinse my hair quickly before I sit up, bringing another wave of grimy, soap-laced water with me. No amount of washing my body is going to make me feel clean, or erase the shame etched onto my soul, or the betrayal carved into my heart like a scarlet letter that burns as bright as Bea ever did.

Flipping the drain open, I listen to the water getting sucked down and pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them to try and keep the chill away, but it's not like I deserve to be warm.

I deserve to suffer for betraying Bea, for abandoning my sister, and for loving a monster like Lakyn Meyer.

Fortunately, I know I won't have to wait for long.

I can hear Lakyn banging stuff around, and I could have sworn I heard him hammering a minute ago—although I have no fucking clue what that means for me. It's probably something from his little playroom, one of the tools he uses to take his victims apart, and now he's going to figure out some way to use it on me that won't kill me.

Because he doesn't want me dead.

I'm his living toy. The bird with the broken wings that the cat can bat around without worrying about it flying away, because there's nowhere for me to go. For a while I dreamed about finding Bea and running off with her, but that dream is dead.

Now I have nowhere to go.

Escape would just put me back on the streets, alone, and even though I hate myself for it... I don't think I can leave Lakyn.

Because as much as I hate him… I love him too.

And that's why I know I'm damned.

NINE

Say You Love Lakyn

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