Page 95 of Peak Cruelty

I gesture vaguely at the notebook, still open in my lap.“That was the idea, anyway.”

“And?”the woman asks.

“And I fucked it up.”

I don’t elaborate.Don’t have to.We both know some fuckups don’t need explaining.

She studies me for a beat too long.Then: “You’re not just talking about your mother.”

I meet her eyes.“I know.”

“Or the women in that book.”

I let out a short breath.Almost a laugh, but not quite.“She’s not like them.Wrong place, wrong time, kind of thing.Just close enough to confuse me.”

“She the reason you’re hurting now?”she asks, voice low.

“Not in the way you mean.”

She nods once.“Still worth the pain?”

I don’t answer.

Because she already knows.

Neither of us says anything for a long while.Not until I pick the notebook up.Let it rest against my good thigh like an anchor.

I flip past Rachel.Past the others.I think about what I’m going to need—cash, movement, a car.I’ll start with Rachel.

They came for Marlowe, so there’s a line from there to somewhere.And I’m done pretending I’m not going to follow it.

“She didn’t deserve what happened,” I say.

“No,” the woman agrees.“But that’s not the same as being yours to fix.”

I look up at her.

“I’m not fixing anything,” I say.“I’m finishing it.”

She nods.Then walks to the sink and turns the water on like the conversation’s over.

It is.

I stay on the couch until the light changes and the ache in my ribs becomes familiar.Then I put the notebook in my bag, zip it, and shakily pull myself up.

The pills wore off hours ago.My body hurts like a motherfucker, but my mind’s clearing.

And I know exactly where I’m going.

48

Marlowe

Iwake again, this time with the heavy feeling of the house settling into my bones.The air feels different.Thicker.Dense with expectation, heavy with the demand for gratitude.A warning hangs in it: prove you can behave.

I don’t move.

The room is unchanged.White walls.Soft robe.Neutral art.The kind of minimalism that passes for peace when someone else paid for it.I remember the word I carved into the wall last night—*Vance*.I don’t need to check if it’s still there.I can feel the grooves under my skin.

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