Page 14 of Desecrated Saints
I grab her wrists, trying to prise her hands away from my windpipe. Brooklyn shoves me from the booth, and we go tumbling to the hardwood floor. I manage to roll us before her fist connects with my jaw and knocks me off balance.
“Brooklyn! Stop!”
Without responding to her name, she dropkicks me into a nearby table, which smashes. I gape in shock as she grabs a broken table leg, snarling at me again. Yelling her name does nothing to prevent her from striking me with it until blood is pouring from my forehead.
“It’s me! Brooklyn, please—”
Snarling like a rabid animal, I have to grab a handful of her platinum hair to regain the upper hand. She lands beside me, and I crack her head against the floor for good measure.
“Stop fighting me, dammit!”
The pain barely registers. She’s like an empty shell. Her nails rake down my cheek, narrowly missing my eye. Bleeding and running out of steam, I go for the nuclear option. Pain isn’t getting the message across. I need to force out whatever monster is running riot in her head.
Managing to scramble back and grab another barstool, I test the weight of solid wood. If I can knock her insane ass out, I’ll have time to formulate a plan that doesn’t involve us both landing in a prison cell for assault and criminal damage.
“I’m sorry, Brooke. Forgive me.”
Running at full speed, I smash the barstool into the side of her head. Brooklyn drops in an instant, clinging to consciousness. She’s still writhing and beholden to invisible voices. I pin her arms down with my spread legs, cupping both of her cheeks to force her to look at me.
“Patient Eight.”
In an instant, Brooklyn goes limp.
“You will stop fighting me.”
Like a mindless machine with the plug pulled out, staring up at me is an empty vessel ready for its next command. I’m terrified by the gaping void inside of her; it’s so clearly visible. The person I know was gone in an instant when this beast seized full control.
Before she can attack me again, I mutter another apology and punch Brooklyn straight in the face. Her head smacks into the floor as she’s knocked out cold. Keeping her pinned down, I take stock of the destruction around us just as the cafe owner reappears with a phone at his ear.
“Please don’t call the police,” I blurt.
CHAPTER 4
BROOKLYN
CRAZY - ECHOS
Hands braced on the bathroom sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m sporting a colourful black eye and swollen face. Kade didn’t pull his punch yesterday. I let my fingers trail over the sore flesh, proof of what he claims happened. I can’t remember a fucking thing.
I lost my shit and the world disappeared from sight. She took over. Patient Eight. I’m inhabiting this body with another person now. The result of careful calculation and experimentation. She’s made her home in the desolate wasteland of my sanity.
Ignoring the sound of Hudson and Kade bickering about another supply run, I turn the shower on. Neither of them is willing to leave me after my performance in town. I’ve refused to come out of my room since, unable to look at Kade now that he’s had a glimpse of the real me.
The girls kept their silence, and I didn’t bother to break it last night. None of us have the answers we need; talking about all the shit still to resolve feels futile. Under the beat of scorching water, I let the frustrated tears flow.
I must stand beneath the spray for an hour without moving, trying to scrape some control together. I still feel freezing cold, despite the hot water. The chill of my basement cell refuses to thaw, no matter how far from Blackwood I am.
When the shower door slides open, I flinch.
“Kade, I swear to God—”
Peering over my shoulder, I find someone else waiting. Eli stands with his acid-wash t-shirt dangling from his hands. Adorable, chocolatey ringlets frame perceptive eyes that are full of questions he can’t vocalise.
“Not now, Eli. I need to be alone.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Are you just going to stand there until I say yes?”