Page 96 of Crybaby

A wounded yell leaves him and suddenly, I feel a little bad, but I need to move. I run toward the door, but only have so much slack on the rope. I’m yanked backward against his body.

“Don’t be trying this shit on me.” He rips the knife from his shoulder and holds it against my neck. “Let’s discuss this like adults, shall we?” he suggests like I’m an unruly preteen.

He marches me inside and into the bathroom, where he hits the shower on cold. He yanks my head underneath. “Time to cool off,” he says as my breath hitches at the icy cold water drowning my head.

“Fuck YOU!” I gurgle under the water.

“Well, if you insist,” he jibes back at me, holding the rope firmly.

“Fuck you, Rev. You piece of shit,” I scream under the water, trying to get free.

“I’myourpiece of shit, baby,” he says, laughing at my drowned head.“Had enough yet?” He’s clearly getting bored.

“No!” I holler as my head hangs upside down.

“No?” He knocks the jet function on the showerhead. It hits me like a cold knife to the back of my head and I struggle to shake myself out of it.“Let’s discuss this calmly!” he yells over the loud rushing water.

I hang limp and give up. I’m so done with all of this. I just need to escape and go find Carson. I pull the crying card, which I know Rev won’t handle. He turns off the shower, and it relents, leaving me dripping cold.

I drop to my knees on the tiled floor, feeling the rope rest down beside me.

“You’d think they’d have heated flooring in this house,” I say as he throws a towel at my head.

I catch it and shiver inside it as I peer up at him and see all the blood covering his torso from the knife wound in his shoulder.

“You’re such a nightmare, Darcie,” he says, shaking his head at me.

“And you’re a fucking Beckett,” I reply, just to test him one more time.

“Touché.”

When his shoulders sag, I know I’ve won this war—for now.

Ifeel like a piñata at a ten-year-old’s birthday.

Every part of me has been beaten, broken, and bruised. You’d think that would be enough for me to hang up my hat and reminiscence on the good ole days. But nope, here I am rocking a fucking hair net as Darcie and I attempt to remain inconspicuous.

This idea is probably one of my worst, but I am fresh out of fucks. Whatever happens, I’ll deal because we are so close—I can taste it.

Darcie still hates me, but that’s okay. It’s probably better that way. After our cage match, we kept to our corners, only speaking when we had to. I told her killing Carson was off the table, and she replied by flipping me the bird.

We have reached an impasse, and this time, neither of us will back down.

She wants Carson dead.

I don’t.

Why the fuck Walter has my birth certificate is another insignificant question that won’t fuck off. Was he holding it as a reminder of things not to do when teaching his prodigal son the ways of the world? Was I the blueprint for him to learn from?

Whatever the reason, Walter can fuck off as far as I’m concerned. He knew. Carson doesn’t. Well, I don’t think he does, which is another reason I need to keep them alive.

I can’t be torturing and killing the people who hold the answers to the questions I so desperately seek.

I understand why Darcie is pissed, but this time, there is no compromise. She does it my way. Or, let the better man win. And when I peer over at her, eyeballing the fuck out of me, I don’t like my odds.

We are here in the Beckett home under the guise that we’re just two teens who want to earn an extra buck working this grand affair. The staff uniforms we wear help us blend in. We stole them from the two unfortunate morons who should have listened to their parents and not talk to strangers.

They are tied up in the forest. But I’m not a total bastard and made sure to throw a blanket over their heads to keep them warm. And who said chivalry is dead?

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