Page 118 of Twisted Heathens

Brooklyn stares up at the ceiling, muttering a weak yes. I can see her eyelids fluttering, sleep beckoning her under. There’s enough blood in Eli’s room and the bathtub to warrant her unconsciousness. I watch her carefully until she finally gives in, burrowing down despite still being dressed in her soaked, ruined clothes.

This girl will destroy me, and everything I’ve worked for. Already I can feel the impending mania niggling in my head, burning behind my eyes as it battles to the surface. It’s all just too much, I can’t keep doing this. Picking up everyone’s fucking broken pieces over and over. I’ve got enough of my own to contend with.

I strip off Brooklyn’s jeans and t-shirt, being as gentle as possible. She barely stirs, soft beneath my touch as I slip one of my shirts over her head and tuck her in. I recheck the bandages to make sure they are done tight, and retreat to Kade’s bed to study her.

We need blood.

Medication.

Sedatives.

A fucking psychiatrist.

Real medical attention, other than just me. But if I hand her over, that’ll be it. They’ll most likely send her back to Clearview, with no hope of ever leaving. That or she’ll end up in solitary, where nothing good ever happens. There’s no right answer here, I’m being forced to choose between losing my firecracker and saving her damn life. When my phone vibrates in my pocket I startle, noting Hudson’s name before answering.

“Where the hell are you? I sat alone at lunch like a fucking freak.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “Long story. Come to my room.”

There’s a long, loaded pause before he replies. “I just need to finish up here. You good for an hour?”

“Just fucking hurry up.”

I hang up and continue my silent vigil, hands clenched tight as I wrestle with my emotions. She can’t escape her past while it continues to torment her. I’ll never be able to fix that, no matter how many times I stitch her up or make her smile. Some scars simply run too deep.

I raid my stash of pills and break two of the capsules open, carefully tipping it into a glass of water. Rousing Brooklyn long enough to get it down her is easy, and the hefty dose soon takes effect. She passes the fuck out. Safe… for now.

I can’t lose my firecracker to the demons in her head.

None of us will be able to live with ourselves.

Thirty-Eight

Brooklyn - One Year Ago

Little Monster by Royal Blood

“Thanks for the ride.”

Grant watches me grab my handbag, hand slipping into his pocket. My mouth waters at the bag of white powder he pulls free and slides over to me. “Least I can do. This should hold you for a while. Hit me up when you want more though.”

I squeeze my legs together, trying not to wince at the burn. Sex with him is never gentle, but at least I get something from it. Even if I have to do it all over again next week in order to get more drugs.

“Sure thing. See you at work tomorrow?”

“Later, B.”

I climb out and watch him go, itching to get inside and tuck into my next dose. Vic’s home from visiting his parents, so I’ll have to be fucking high to deal with his possessive shit all night. My nails dig into my palms as I take the crappy elevator all the way up to our apartment, dread and anxiety spiralling.

Slit his throat and run away, the devil whispers in my head.

“Nope,” I mutter under my breath, digging my keys out. “Not listening.”

They whisper to me non-stop now, the shadows. Forever my dark and sinister companions. Tuning them out becomes harder with every passing day, but the alternative is even more terrifying. I know what happened to my mother when she stopped fighting. It’s not pretty.

Once I get inside, Vic surges to his feet and meets me in the kitchen. His dress shirt is unbuttoned, revealing tanned muscles that hold no appeal for me anymore.

“Where were you?” he demands.

---