Page 26 of Going to Hell
Shivering, I scanned their faces, looking for my uncle.
“No, no, no! I tire of your games. No, I love them.” C’adon raged as he stalked toward me.
He grabbed the first soul who had escaped into the hallway and lifted it like it had substance.
“Everything I do, I do for you.”
He punctuated those words with several grab-and-tosses of souls into the room.
“But it is never enough. Why can it never be enough?”
Hallway empty, he slammed the door shut and turned on me. I stared straight ahead at his heaving chest as if he wasn’t there.
“You torment me. Always denial or pain. This is my dream. Let me have my way!” The rage in his tone shifted to one of pleading. “Just one touch. I beg you.”
Gods help me, I wanted to do as he asked. I wanted to set my hand over his heart and give him the comfort he wanted.
He was wearing me down. Dangerously so.
As if reading my mind, he leaned down until we were face to face. I pretended to look right through him as my heart thumped rapidly in my chest at the idea that he might be leaning in for a kiss.
“Love me!” He yelled it in my face with so much rage my heart almost quit on me.
Definitely not touching him. Or ever inviting him to sleep next to me again.
Lifting my torch, I studied it for a moment, then continued on with my exploration as if he hadn’t just scared ten years of my life from me.
I also came up with a new rule to add to the list.
Crazy, good-looking men should be avoided at all costs, regardless of species.
He absolutely was going to be the death of me if he kept this up.
“What more does she want from me?” he asked in his usual muttering tone. “I give her everything.”
I rolled my eyes and set my ear against the next door.
“Not that one. She will not be happy. Blood will rain.”
Hearing the same thing again and again for all eternity was going to break me. But I backed away from the door, unwilling to provoke him further, and went to the next one.
We continued our pattern of muttering and searching for what felt like hours until my stomach refused to be ignored any longer and let out a ravenous sound.
“She hungers. Choose wisely.”
I dreaded a repeat performance of the last meal as he hurried ahead of me, and I wished more than anything that I had a voice so I could tell him not to choose bread again. Or if he did, to add a side of beef to it. But I couldn’t. So, when light flooded the open doorway ahead and I found another table set with a single piece of bread, I wasn’t surprised.
I tucked my torch into the empty holder by the door and took my seat. Ignoring him as he hunkered down to watch me eat, I picked off a piece of my bread and popped it into my mouth while wishing it was protein or vegetables.
“She is not happy,” he muttered. “Poor choice. Think. Simple.”
The bread disappeared from my hand. A weird piece of fruit I’d never seen before appeared on my plate. I picked it up, studying it, grateful that it wasn’t a pomegranate. With its vivid pink coloring, it looked like an artichoke and a troll doll had a baby.
Unsure how to eat it, I dug my fingers into its outside and tried prying it open. My thumbnail pierced the flesh, and I caught a whiff of sweetness that prompted me to try harder.
“Look at her struggle. She wants what I provided.”
No shit. Instead of useless commentary, how about a knife to cut this thing open,I thought.
