Page 41 of Twisted Heathens
“Huh?” I turn to Phoenix.
“She hates your fucking guts, Hud. You’ve got to sort it.”
I look away, feeling the hot, clinging embrace of shame. What’s my plan here? Beg on my knees for forgiveness? I don’t think I’ve ever apologised for a thing in my whole damn life. That’s what drove her away in the first place, the inability to own my shit.
“I’ll figure it out,” I mutter.
“Promise?”
“Jesus, man. I promise, okay?”
Phoenix nods, clearly still unhappy but conceding for the time being. I don’t bother looking at Eli, the deathly silent statue in the corner. I’m sure he’s thinking the exact same thing, judging me with those eyes that see far too much.
How do you rectify the worst thing you’ve ever done in your life?
“You’ve got to tell us what happened between you two,” Phoenix states, sitting back in his chair like he’s a damn interrogator or some shit, rather than my friend.
“Haven’t we been over this, shithead? Not happening.”
“We have a right to know.”
I abruptly push my chair back, gathering my stuff as he watches me closely. Rage slips beneath my skin and burns hot, scalding every nerve ending until I can’t contain it anymore. The chair shatters as I smash it against the wall, my roar of frustration startling nearby patients.
Phoenix jumps in shock. “Jesus, Hud. Chill the fuck out before security comes over! You need to cool it.”
Standing amongst the splintered wood, my chest heaves and cheeks burn. Even smashing the chair didn’t release the heavy weight in my mind, the choking guilt. If only I could go back, punch my younger self in the face and tell him to do the right thing, no matter the consequences.
Instead, I ruined us both.
Fifteen
Brooklyn
Monster (Under My Bed) by Call Me Karizma
Vic grunts, body flush against mine, hips glued together. Thrusting into me with tender strokes, moaning and kissing my neck. I feel sick to my stomach but can’t pull away, he doesn’t need to know what goes through my head when we make love.
It’ll break his heart.
“You’re so fucking tight. God, I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I grind out. The words killing me slowly, piece by piece.
It’s not his fault. Vic… he’s troubled. Kind and sweet when he wants to be, but scarily quick to anger. Hateful of the distance growing between us. When we fight over the drink and drugs, he comes to me to apologise first. Sweeping up broken glass or fixing shattered picture frames.
But he’s always the first to start swinging too. Neither one of us is good for the other. The ghosts and shadows in my head, they’re ripping us both apart.
Vic rolls off me, breathing heavy as cold air hits my skin. The relief is acute, quickly followed by shame. This should be giving me pleasure, making me feel loved and wanted. Not repelled, holding in my disgust as I fake the noises and an eventual orgasm.
“Did you try the dress on that I bought you?”
“Uh, it’s not really me.”
“Put the damn dress on. It’s my sister’s wedding, for fuck’s sake,” he hisses.
Dressed up like a prized puppy. Fuck that. But if I refuse, I’m the bad guy.
“I… can’t wear it, Vic.”