Page 96 of Demons and Debts
I try to will the tears away, but at the same time I know I can’t hide how upset I am, so I try to avert my face away from his, slinking past him.
I think I’ve made it until I feel his hand on my shoulder turning me back to face him.
‘Hey, Sweetheart. Are you ok? What’s wrong?’
Is he genuinely worried? No, he’s probably just trying to avoid anotherepisodewith the crazy girl. The thought of how he danced with me the other night and probably laughed about it later with the others sends me into an emotional tailspin and I let out a cry that mortifies me.
‘Hey, hey. It’s ok. Tell me what’s wrong.’
His arms are around me and I try to push him away, but I can’t. I want his succor, comfort from a guy who called me a retard before we left that same night. I cry harder. I’m so lonely I’ll take scraps from demons who can’t stand me, who think I’m literally less than them …Fuck. Less than the other human slave girls they literally have no respect for.
I’m so pathetic.
I vaguely hear Paris on the phone as I’m crying into his chest and I feel him pick me up, carrying me upstairs.
Probably wants to fuck the freak, see how weird I am in the sack.
My tears are drying up now and a cold fury is quickly taking the place of my desperate sadness.
We get to my room, and I struggle to be let down. The moment his hands leave me, I’m sprinting to the closet, throwing it open and then slamming the door. As soon as I’m alone, I grab my hair on either side of my head, pulling it hard, my mouth opening on a silent scream of anguish.
The pain grounds me, punishes me, makes me feel good on some fucked up level. But it’s not enough and even though there’s a voice in my head screaming at me that I’m making this a thousand times worse, I silence it maliciously. I want it to be worse. I deserve it.
I hit myself in the forehead like I’m banging on a door as hard as I can. The knowledge that I’m hurting myself, the thudding of my knuckles on my skull – One. Two. Three times, then four – is enough for all of it to disappear and I’m left in the silence.
In the dark.
I fall to my knees, my actions over the past few minutes rushing at me with clarity I didn’t have a few moments ago.
I sink down on my heels.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.What have I done?
There’s a tentative knock at the door and, even though I don’t say anything, it opens.
Theo peers inside. ‘Can I do anything?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
He leaves me by myself and, although I’m glad he does, I wish I could fall into a ‘meltdown exhaustion sleep’ in someone’s arms tonight instead of all alone.
But I don’t call him back. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. I just need to do my time and not forget that despite their incubus wiles, they don’t and won’t care about me for real. I can’t care about them either.
But I think it might already be too late.
At some pointin the night I leave the closet in search of my bed. I curl up under the blankets, my heart heavy and my stomach leaden.
At least I don’t throw up.
The morning is metwith a breakfast tray on the table with Theo’s cereal on it; dry in the bowl with a jug of milk so I can pour it in myself. Even though I’m still reeling from last night, my dumb heart thaws toward Theo just a tiny, tiny bit as I eat it.
My door opens and Vic strides in.
‘Get up,’ he says. ‘We leave in two hours.’
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘Metro City.’
