Page 53 of Corpse Roads

A small pile gathers. I feel sick with shame just looking at it. I don’t need Doctor Richards to tell me this isn’t normal. Sometimes, I catch myself doing it without realising, surrounded by torn-out hair.

It’s all about pain.

Control.

Clarity.

This is the only thing that works.

Coming back to my senses, awareness slams into me like an avalanche. The numb sense of detachment slowly abates. Until next time, I’m back in my body.

“Harlow? Are you out here?”

Quickly blowing the hair away, I pull Lucky closer and remain tucked away from sight. There’s a string of curses before silence resumes, an empty chorus to my never-ending supply of tears.

No matter how much I pull or make myself hurt, I can’t remove the image of Laura’s mouth foaming with blood from my memories. Her eyes connected with mine one final time between the bars as I sobbed uncontrollably.

Ignoring Lucky’s whines, I painfully position myself on my knees, linking my stiff fingers together. The cast on my arm makes it difficult, but I’ve been in worse states.

When Mrs Michaels broke my other arm all those years ago, I could barely move. It must have been for months, because at least two girls came and went during that time.

“Please, forgive me of my sins,” I recite shakily. “I don’t know where I belong in this world. Show me the path of the righteous.”

There’s shouting from back inside the house, sounding far away with the sprawling gardens hiding me from sight. The bluster of loud, frantic voices threatens to distract me.

An argument is rumbling somewhere. I remain focused, reciting the words scored across my heart. I’m so wrapped up in the ritual, I don’t notice the pad of tentative footsteps.

“For fuck’s sake. Shouldn’t have brought her home.”

Startling, I peek open an eye. Hunter inches around the perimeter of the grounds, holding something in his hands. He looks rumpled, his blue shirt wrinkled and collar ripped open, while his loose hair stirs in the wind.

Before I can slink away, Lucky starts barking. Traitor. His head cocks, tracking the sound with the ease of a well-trained bloodhound.

“Shut up, damn dog,” he curses.

There’s a distinct, metallic click. I peer through my curtain of tears long enough to see Hunter tuck a gun back into the leather strap wrapped around his shoulders.

“Harlow?”

“Go away, Hunter,” I plead.

“That’s not gonna happen. Get your ass up right now.”

His furious tone makes me flinch. I bite down on my inner cheeks hard enough to draw blood, bracing myself for the inevitable strike. I knew this was too good to last.

Maybe he’ll beat me with his belt or lock me in some evil basement beneath their beautiful home. He has the devil in him. I can see it imprinted across his skin like a mirage.

“What are you doing?” he thunders.

I whimper in response, my eyes flinging open to meet his.

“Fuck, love.” He looks mortified, his face paling. “I’m not going to hit you. Alright?”

With a shuffle, the terrifying pillar of power sits down opposite me, crossing his broad legs in the grass. Hunter’s face is an open wound of guilt as he intently studies me.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks more gently.

“I l-like… watching the s-sunset.”

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