Page 11 of Judas
“I don’t care!” I can’t help but scream. Stress and odd elation humming through the veins of my arms, making my hands squeeze her thin wrists with more force.
Sadie is still struggling beneath me. Clothing riding up to give a slight peek of the pale skin between her shirt and the waistband of her pants. Sweat seeping from her flesh as it flushes mingles with the scent of her perfume, making it stronger.
“She’s her blood! The world must be cleansed of this filth, her included.” My words now forced out in a desperate growl.
That must have gotten her attention because she goes dead still, staring straight up at me as the wiry dark strands of my hair curtain around my face. The beginnings of perspiration building on my forehead and neck but not quite enough to drip on her yet.
She’s so young. Pretty in a doll sort of way. Her smooth skin is nearly flawless as it stains pink from our scuffle. No freckles, no beauty marks, nothing outside of a scar that captures my attention. It’s small, faint, and digs into the cushion of her upper lip. Probably an old playground wound but I find myself curious how it got there.
Flicking my stare away from her mouth, back up to her raging eyes, I note that they're empty. Dead despite the life that thrums through her—pulsing under the thin skin of her arms. Slight silver specks that war with the blue sparkling like glints of platinum.
If I wasn’t just running and tackling her a moment ago, one would think that she’s not quite real. Ethereal in a way, uncanny in another. Similar to one of those living dolls you see women selling on the home goods channel. They’re almost glossy like someone put a fresh coating of lacquer over the most intricate ofpaintings. The pupils blown so wide they almost gobble up the rim of her iris—feral yet focused.
She is in survival mode. What happened to you, sweet girl?
“Get the fuck off me.” She orders. Dry, no emotion, nothing. Nearly robotic in a sense and it’s intriguing. There is a switch in her head somewhere and I can’t wait to toy with it, see the types of shenanigans little Sadie can get into.
Staring for a beat longer, my body moves to let her up and that’s when she takes the opportunity to really fight back. Kneeing me in the stomach then she lifts her right arm and swings her elbow, clocking me in the face. Blood instantly spurts from my nose, dribbling down my chin over the rough stubble that’s had too much time to grow.
The only thing I can think to do is fall back, slow the bleeding, and hold enough pressure to counteract the pain now coursing through my head. It throbs, eyes blurring while filling with tears which try to roll over my bottom lashes—which I refuse to let go of.
With my right hand hovering over my bridge, I pinch the soft tissues nose down to the cartilage to stem the flow and watch her scramble to her feet. She may look like him but she’s got her mother’s fight and at least that is admirable. Nadia was always ready to cause pain to those she had power over. Whore or not.
Sadie hesitates for a second, a flicker of concern passing through her expression then, in a blink of an eye, it’s gone.
Interesting.
The longer I am in her presence, the more intrigued by her I become. Nonetheless, I refuse to let her go now. Not after I have witnessed, while in passing, the things in this house.
As she turns to walk off, I reach out and grab her ankle and jerk, causing her to fall again. Her hands and other knee barely catch her before she faceplants on the floor. When she whirls around and tries to strike, I’m already anticipating it and swingfirst. My fist connects with her face, accompanied by an audible crack, the force flinging her head back. Then she goes limp. Maybe she will think twice about hitting me again, brat.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I finally push myself up and off the ground. My elbows abraded from when I scurried back as Sadie attempted to elbow me, only to rake mine along the roughened carpet. Fisting the front tail of my shirt and lifting, I use the worn cotton to wipe the blood from my nose and mouth. It doesn’t take off too much, only enough to smear the bulk of blood. All while it continues to trickle over my upper lip. Rounding the padding there until it creeps inside and stains my teeth.
Hmph, lick my teeth clean. Spoke too soon.
Suppose it is time to take a little tour of her childhood home, now that I’m unsure how long she will be out. Starting off, I walk through every room. Observing each tiny detail the humble abode willfully offers to me. I’ll be honest, the green monster makes its appearance the longer I keep looking around. Seeing all the sprawling familial trinkets, awards, and photographs peppering each surface I glance at. These people? They love Sadie. It looks like she’s their entire word.
Unfortunately for them, I’m about to destroy it.
Rounding the last bit of uncharted territory, I find exactly what I am looking for, and grin. Maybe I won’t have to after all.
Chapter four
Babalon
Seven Years Ago
“Come on, Nadia, work with me here. We are past the statute of limitations. You can talk about the case without adding to your sentencing,” Warren groans, sitting across the table from me. His thumb absentmindedly clicking the end of his pen as he stares at me and begrudgingly waits for me to open up.
Nosey fucker.
I don’t know why the orderlies allowed him in here in the first place. He sensationalized my trial, turning me into some sort of predator for everyone in the country to vilify.
At first, I tried to argue my stance through letters and phone calls with news outlets, hoping they would hear me out, but lowand behold they didn’t. Instead, the vultures spliced my replies and frankensteined them together in a way that supported their claims: that I took advantage of Kace.
You did, baby.
I did.
