Page 44 of The Tenth Circle
He’s focused on Halo, but I can still feel him digging through the crevices of my mind, on the hunt to destroy every last bit of his cage.
For years I’ve been fighting the same war, in the same head, against the same monster, so why the fuck do I still think I can outsmart him?
I hit an impasse and turn to face Vicious, blood stained Jordans carrying me to him. My chest heaves as I get closer, watching his smirk switch from my devilish one to my arrogant one.
There’s too much of my nature this motherfucker stole from me, so determined to convince me we’re the same.
But I’m not him.
I’mnota fucking monster.
Just a monster’s vessel.
And Vicious boasting is the painful reminder of how easy it is for him to fill it.
With a puffed out chest, I meet him, and he rises off the table. We stare each other down, a silent challenge between us to see who will cave first.
My jaw tightens.
His jaw tightens.
I scowl.
He scowls—mirroring every single one of my moves to fan the flames burning my insides.
My eyes twitch again, the telltale sign I’m losing. The harder he taunts the larger the fire, and before I know it all that’s left of me is ashes.
The scream ripping past my throat is guttural as I lunge for Vicious, and just like before, he vanishes—then surfaces again behind the two beaten deer in headlights.
He places a hand on each of the JV’s shoulders, every detail so graphic a part of me is shocked they can’t feel it. He watches and waits to see my reaction. But all he gets is one from them. A bunch of bloody tears, begging, and muffled words.
Vicious presents the guys to me like they’re trophies I earned, a look of amusement plastered to the face of mine he’s stolen.
On the inside I’m screaming, ripping apart the world to take back what’s mine, but something on the outside stuns me into silence.
Light appears over Vicious, stretching slowly in a circle around his head, leaving me no choice but to follow the trail it leaves behind.
I tilt my head, unsure of what it is, but when the rising tide of self-loathing fills in my gut, it leaves no room for question.
Facing the truth the first time was hard, but even harder to dispute. For my dad and sister too. They could sense the monster in every room—one choosing to keep forgiving him, the other praying him the fuck away.
As if love or God could cure this disease.
Here’s the thing about ignoring diseases—it doesn’t make them disappear…only gives them time to spread.
To hide in plain sight.
Behind a star smile. Occasional mood swings.
Charm and medicinal side effects.
Venom so smooth it glides through your veins like a shot of Russo-Baltique.
Symptoms like these make it so fucking easy to forget the danger you’ve become, to yourself and those around you. Until the danger itself decides it’s time to come forth with a reminder.
As blackout-rage. Spilled blood on your hands.
A monster with a halo shining over his head.
