Page 35 of Poisoning Ivy
In truth, Idolove his games. I love how he takes control, how he convinces me to surrender it.
"Spin the bottle?" I guess, noticing Theo taking a long swig from the whiskey bottle that's set on the coffee table before us.
"I don't have to spin a bottle to make out with whoever I want." He drops onto the couch at my left, making all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
He sets the gun down in the center of the coffee table with a smirk, daring me to back out before he's even told me what sort of game we're playing.
It takes effort, but I force myself to stay still as his eyes trail over each one of us.
It's a shiny silver gun, one with a round chamber near the trigger.
I've watched him kill, and I have accepted that something in him craves the violence, murder. But I have a hard time imagining him using that gun to end someone's life. It seems so cold, impersonal. And yet, as I look at it, my pulse picks up, my veins rushing with adrenaline breaking through the haze of whatever drugs they gave me tonight.
I've been dreading the next kill, not knowing whether they would make me be an accomplice, a witness… or maybe their victim.
"What is this?" I ask, my heart sticking in my throat.
"A gun." Killian says, deadpan. "Revolver, specifically. With a chamber that can fit six bullets."
"Wh-" I swallow, struggling to maintain my calm. "Why would you need that many?"
"I don't." He smirks. "But tonight, we do."
"You can't be serious?" Monty laughs, though the sound is a little dragged out, like even his body is hesitant to accept whatever is about to unfold.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Roulette?" Theo's voice contains excitement he doesn't bother trying to deny.
I feel the world starting to slip away as the gravity of the situation settles over my throat, cutting off my air supply until I choke out, "RussianRoulette?"
"The best kind there is." Killian confirms, holding up a small little copper nub pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
A bullet.
It doesn't look like much on its own, but I know the truth of it. I know that that little bullet can rip through my body fast enough that it tears ligaments, shreds muscles, and creates a hole that lets out all of the sickness I've tried to live with for so long. I've always been apathetic about facing the potential end of my life, and now all of a sudden, my heart feels like it grew wings that it's desperate to spread. But the steel bars of the cage I've left it trapped in won't let them free, so they beat furiously inside of me, ruthlessly, painfully.
The agony is beautiful.
"One bullet, six chambers." Killian explains.
I glance around like maybe his victim will materialize, but I guess I'm the only one left out of whatever they all seem to understand. No surprise there; I've always been on the fringe when it comes to them.
"Four of us." Monty whispers, a hand on my shoulder giving him the leverage to get close enough to me that his whisper feels like a cannon blast.
I watch as Killian picks the revolver up and examines it, using his thumb to coax open the chamber and slip a bullet into the round. Every part of me is tight, tense and anxious, despite the fact that inside, I feel like I'm melting. I don't know if it's the drugs or something else that's liquified me, but I feel too insubstantial to move, like if I take a step, I'll fall to the ground.
As he spins the chamber, my eyes lock on the barrel of the gun, aimed in my direction. "You going to shoot me?"
"I'm not going to shoot you, Bambi." Killian laughs, his eyes glittering with that sharp and violent hunger I know so well. "That's not how the game works."
A game.
All games have winners and losers. I'm guessing if you lose this game, you lose everything. But if you win? Well, thatcouldbe worse.
I stare at the barrel, still pointed in my direction, my heart thudding heavily inside my chest.
"Okay." I say. "What are the rules, then?"
