Page 140 of Cruel Pleasures
The three of us are a mess for a long time after.
Both unwrap me from around them and Ryu picks me up to set me on the bed, knowing I can’t manage on my own. They’re only marginally better. Archer walks out his exhaustion, gusting out ragged breaths and dripping sweat. Ryu places both hands on his waist and seems to spend a second processing the aftermath.
When I speak, my voice sounds unlike my own. It’s worn and hoarse and my words are slurred like I’m under the influence.
“Clean up…”
Ryu nods and then repeats, “Clean up.”
“Then bed,” Archer adds.
And though both men, however exhaustedly, treat me to my second bath of the night, I can’t help wondering if the word bed means what I hope it does.
If they’ll stay with me. If this barrier we’ve broken through will mean anything come morning…
35. Archer
Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want - Deftones
Iwake long before the other two. Ryu seemingly hasn’t moved from the position he fell asleep in, resembling a vampire in how still and solemn he looks lying on his back. Imani’s more chaotic and curved—body half tucked under the cover, her round ass pushed back against me as she’s curled on her side between the two of us.
A nuclear explosion wouldn’t wake her.
The bed’s big enough that neither stir as I slide out and draw the door shut. Out in the hall I’m immediately inundated with the gruesome aftermath of last night. The mood in the house is different. Darker than before, which seems like a feat in itself considering the annual games turn murder into a sport.
The place rivals a cemetery in terms of dead bodies and its ghostly air. I walk the halls cognizant of the fact that last night dozens lived and breathed under this roof. This morning the numbers have dwindled down next to zero.
Any remaining club members have seemingly fled sometime during the melee. The same goes for the staff, with the exception of ones who were murdered like Jerome. I find Mrs. Vanderson’s body on the main staircase, pale and dried out of blood. Her mouth hangs off her shoulders, the crust of residual spittle gathered at the corners. Her shawl hangs open, revealing a deep gash to the chest.
Did one of the players do her in? Was this the work of Ryu or Imani?
I racked up several bodies last night, but the Vandersons weren’t among them…
It becomes a common theme as I wander the grounds and find more dead bodies than I was aware of last night.
All hell broke loose in every sense of the word.
Something I’ve never had a problem with. Hell means chaos and disorder. Two ways to guarantee anything but the usual sanitized, superficial goods and riches the elite dabble in. I’ll take gouged out eyes and severed jugulars any day over tennis bracelets and holidays in the Maldives.
Still, the questions of who, why, when stay on my mind.
Once I’ve scoped out the grounds, I go to the one part of the house that I’ve been avoiding—my workshop, where last night, I dumped Mother’s body.
I drag my feet on getting started. Washing my hands. Carefully selecting the tools I’ll be using. Checking on the severed parts already stored in the deep freezer.
When I can no longer stall, I select my electric bone saw and power it on. My gaze lands on her cold, expressionless face finally at rest. The same face she’d hidden from the world for years. The same face that doubled as a deranged, loving mother and a psychotic, murderous one.
Inhaling a deep breath, I let the bone saw do what its meant to—the spinning blade slices through the first limb of many.
Usually, I enjoy my work. Relish in the bad things I’m doing. Vile things that would make most people vomit up dinner.
But deconstructing Mother is different.
My gaze glazes over and my hands work separately of myself. The violent whirring noises fall on deaf ears. Instead, Mother’s voice returns.
The Hostess speaks to me in a tone sharpened by scorn.
You’re cursed, you foolish waste of life. You’ll be unloved just like me.
