Page 29 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

“Oh please,” I scoff, having had enough of whatever teenage rebellion kick she’s on. “You hate your family as much as I do.”

“Do you have a habit of fucking the people that you hate?”

To be fair, I have no rebuttal.

And she’s done with this conversation. She shakes her head violently before twisting on her feet and retreating down the hall. Without question, I give chase. She can annoy the living shit out of me. She can be just as bad as the rest of her family, but I’ll always have a soft spot for her.

“Stop following me,” she says without missing a beat as she races past the left landing of the stairs.

But she should know better than to believe I’m going to listen. I grab her by the shoulder and force her into a half-circle. “I need you to listen to me.”

“Why do I always get the feeling that you want me to thank you for what you did?” She knocks my hand away. “As if I wanted you to kill him. The world would be better off if it was you that died that day. You will eternally be worse than any of my family and they’re fucking awful, so I guess that just makes you trash.”

And I don’t know what takes over me, but it’s like I leave my own body and watch as I punch forward. The blunt force against her chest is enough to send her stumbling backwards, the impact of her body breaking through the wooden banister. I watch in slow motion as her body cracks against the marble floor of the grand foyer.

ChapterSixteen

ADDISON

I’ve just killed another member of the Calloway family and if she’s not exactly dead, she’ll be in the grave soon enough. She’s not moving, her body spread out in a pool of her own blood like some macabre artwork painted upon the Sistine Chapel. I stand hunched over the broken banister, watching as a crowd gathers around in equal parts mourning and disbelief.

And then their eyes are on me, a Greek chorus of judgment that I’ve laid witness to before with my own gaze. It’s the same looks passed my way as I stood beside the burning fire of the wreckage that consumed the life of Carter Calloway. At first, I was heralded into safety by the ignorance of the crowd who could only bother to see me as another victim of the crash, only to be shunned as onlookers placed the pieces together in real time.

I wasn’t a victim then.

I’m not a victim now.

Not a victim to those I’ve hurt, maimed, and killed.

Not a victim to those who’ve abused my fragile mind to the point of shattering.

I should run. That’s what I always do. It’s the only thing I’m good at. The proof is in the fact that the only time I’ve ever felt somewhat fine since Daddy died was when I was away from this terrible place. This place is my Kryptonite, my own suffering that’s going to swallow me whole and spit me out into the deepest abyss of the deepest hell.

My slippery grip tightens over the broken banister, but I don’t feel the pain of the splinters stabbing through my skin. The banister is whole, unbroken.

And then I’m back to reality, a lull to the daydream of a nightmare. Emily’s alive. Vividly so, to the point that I can hear her heart threatening to beat out of her chest as she stands before me. But the way she’s looking at me, eyes agape with disdain and disgust, I long to return to the fantasy that she was dead. It would’ve been the easiest way out of this life I’ve made for myself that I no longer wish to live with. The handcuffs would cuff my hands behind my back, the officers escorting me not to my doom but my release, the freedom from this nightmare that won’t end. At least within the confines of a prison cell, I can’t hurt others.

There’d be solace and I fucking hate myself for thinking that.

“What is wrong with you?” Emily shakes her head violently, the disgust in her voice trapped at the back of her throat like a truck’s tires spinning in gravel. “You’re looking at me just like you looked at Carter.” And then there’s a sudden, unmistakable look of realization written all over her face. Her lips curl into a smirk, but there’s nothing funny about it. “Are you fantasizing about killing me, Addison?”

I don’t respond because either I lie straight through my teeth, or I tell her the truth. Nothing good can come from saying a word.

She takes a cautious step back, the feigned amusement on her face slipping into something more dour. “You’re sick, you know that?”

“We’re all sick,” I say meekly, as if I’m expecting us to meet somewhere in the middle, to stand together in solidarity knowing that we’ve all done terrible things. It’s a foolish hope. “You know that better than anyone.”

She cocks her head to the side, her gaze looking down at the barren foyer where only a few partygoers stand. Everyone else is out back, awaiting the promised fireworks display. If only they knew that the real fireworks were happening inside. And then her eyes fall upon me once more, heavy weights tugging at the tops. “You want me to be something that I’m not. You want me to be just like you so that you can rest easy at night knowing that you’re not the only monster in the world.” She takes a step forward, closing the gap between us. The tension thickens and I’m left dizzy, wondering if she’s going to slap me or kiss me. Fat chance, but she’s unpredictable and it’s in my best interest of self-preservation to expect the unexpected. “I’m fucked up in the head, so I guess that’s something we have in common but if you ever look at me and feel sympathy, I’d ask that you reconsider.” She moves closer still, reaching for my face as she approaches. Her cold hand brushes softly against the skin of my cheek. “It’s you that I feel sorry for. I don’t know how you can sleep at night knowing that you’ve ruined so many lives.”

Honest to God, I believe she’s suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because she’s conveniently forgettingthe truth,or just conveniently brushing over important information, but I’m just as guilty of beating around the bush. To throw her own words back into her own face would only serve to victimize her further and that’s the last thing I wish to do. I’m aware of the hypocrisy considering my feelings on wishing I could throw her over the banister, but the traumatized mind of a damaged girl is complicated and cruel.

Nick comes rushing behind me, perhaps to save the day or perhaps to join his sister in attacking me. Can never be sure which side of the coin he’s going to fall on. The only time I’m certain about anything when it comes to him is when he’s inside me, and the only thing I’m certain of then is that I’m a toy that he likes to play with.

“What’s going on out here?” Nick questions, as if he doesn’t know the answer. The only time Nick has ever seen me with his sister is when she’s tearing at my throat. Just the same, Emily has only ever caught Nick and me in precarious situations that no sister should have to see. He’s never seen the good parts. The way Emily and I used to be. The way I used to be a stand-in for the sister she always wanted but never had. The relationship between the two of us has become so fucking fractured that I begin to question if it ever even existed.

“I’m done with this,” I say quietly, not speaking directly to either one of them. I’m not the smartest or wisest woman in the world. I stick around situations far longer than I should in some perverted hope that things will get better. They never do. “I hope you all find peace.”

Nick’s gaze falls upon me, dark and steely, but I pay him no attention. The relationship between us is wickedly wretched and absolutely insane. We go from using each other’s bodies to feel anything at all to pretending we’re complete strangers that don’t share a twistedly dark history. We ebb and flow between hatred and animalistic lust as if they’re the same fucking thing.

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