Key to Hell (Hell Night 4)

She sniffs, and I hear her shuffling around on the bed. Her voice is small and quiet.

“Dr. Manor kept me sedated with something that kept me loopy for the few days I was here before I went to live with Gabriela and Marco. It was to keep me quiet. I don’t remember much, but I did remember overhearing him talking to someone about me having a miscarriage while I was bleeding out in the gazebo. I remember the pain in my stomach that day and not knowing what it was. My wrists hurt, but it was the pain in my stomach that caused me to black out.”

She hiccups out a sob. I grip the key and squeeze it until I feel the sharp pain of it piercing my palm.

“One of the times I woke up in Dr. Manor’s office, my legs were raised and spread open. He and one of his nurses were… down there, looking at me. I felt something move inside me down there and a moment later, there was a sharp pain. I remember trying to scream, but I couldn’t. It hurt so bad, but I couldn’t move or cry out. I couldn’t make them stop.”

“Motherfuckin’ hell,” Trouble mutters. “It sounds like a dilation and curettage to remove any of the fetus or placenta that didn’t pass through. Those bastards should have given you anesthesia.”

“It was two months after that that I started my period. It was really bad. A few months later, Gabriela and Marco brought a doctor in. He said my uterus was damaged during the procedure, that Dr. Manor was too rough when he scraped the lining, which caused my heavy and painful periods. My uterus is riddled with scars because of it.”

She turns quiet. I kill Dr. Manor over and over in my head in every painful way my mind can conjure up. He was one of the ones who was sent to prison. He died there seven years ago from a heart attack. I want to dig up his bones, piss on them, and set them on fire.

“Because of the damage, my body is ruined. I can’t have kids.”

A pained growl rumbles in my chest. My body starts to shake. It shakes so much my teeth begin to rattle. So many emotions slam into me. Rage and loathing at every single person who’s hurt Rella. Revulsion and hatred at myself for my part in it all. Pain and anguish for Rella for everything she’s been through.

“Please, Aziah,” she chokes. “Turn around and look at me.”

I can’t. At eight years old, I was forced to take her virginity. For years, I was forced to use my body to inflict pain on hers. I was never able to stop my father. When she needed me the most, the day she decided to end her life, I wasn’t there to protect her, to pull her back from her dark thoughts. She was alone in that gazebo, not only losing her own life, but the life of the child I put in her. I didn’t listen to my gut when it said she wasn’t dead. I didn’t look for her when she was taken from Sweet Haven. She was abused every day for fourteen years because of that. Because of my inability to save her, she lost something precious: the chance to become a mother one day.

I look over at Trouble, seeing his own eyes filled with agony for his sister. I never understood why he doesn’t hate me. How he can call me brother after everything I’ve done. It doesn’t matter. I have enough hatred for the both of us.

“Take care of her,” I tell him gravely.

“Emo, wait,” he calls, but I’m already walking out the door.

“Aziah!” Rella cries, the heartache and desperation in her voice slashing through my heart.

I’ve never been able to deny her anything, but this time, I keep walking. I walk out of the building, my body vibrating with pent-up rage. I pull the key out of my pocket, blood already dripping from my hand, leaving little drops on the sidewalk. I don’t stop until I’m at home with the door closed behind me. My home, not Trouble’s. I don’t belong there. I don’t belong around Rella.

My eyes move to the hallway, and my feet are moving before I know it. I stop in front of the basement door, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches as I twist my head back and forth. Cracking resounds in the quiet house. Everything I love to hate is down there. My demons, and all of my sins. I crave to walk down the steps and indulge in the darkness that always comes when I’m in the basement. But so much fucking pain comes with it. I’m afraid if I give in to my need, I won’t stop until it’s too late. I’m not ready for it to be over with yet.

Rearing back, I use the hand still gripping the key and punch the fuck out of the wall. Pieces of drywall rain to the floor when I pull my hand from the wall, leaving behind splatters of blood.

Striding to the bathroom, I grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol and go to my bedroom. I slide down the wall, uncap the bottle, and set it beside me. I open my hand and look down. The key is embedded into my flesh. I pluck it out, set it on my thigh, and glare at my palm. Blood trickles from the wound, and I scrub it against my jeans to get rid of some of it. Grabbing the bottle of alcohol, I tip it over my palm, relishing the burning sensation when it hits the open gash. I’m not doing it to keep it from getting infected; I don’t care if my hand rots the fuck off. I do it because it adds to the pain, and that’s something I need more of right now. There’s no amount of pain I could ever inflict on myself that would even come close to what Rella’s been through, but I’ll damn sure try.

Grabbing the key, I move it to my forearm. I ball my hand into a tight fist and dig the key into the muscle. A straight line down about two inches long. Blood immediately begins to roll down my arm and drips off my elbow. I slice another line beside the first. Both are jagged from the teeth of the key. I dig one more line into my arm before grabbing up the alcohol again. It burns like a bitch but feels so goddamn good at the same time.

I thump my head back against the wall and close my eyes. Flashes of my and Rella’s time in the Hall comes back to me, tormenting me. The pain in her eyes. The tears. The fear. Her begging my father the first few times. And the acceptance afterwards when she knew her pleas weren’t going to help.

People claim God is perfect. That his perfect plan was to make imperfect people. How in the fuck can perfection be someone like my father? Why in the hell would he create something so evil and vile? Why would he put an innocent person through the horrors Rella has endured?

Opening my eyes, I use the key on my other arm, jaggedly slashing several lines. I go deep, uncaring I’m bordering on going too far. I bleed and I bleed some more, the pain still not enough.

It never will be.

I DON’T KNOW HOW LONGI sit on the floor, but when I hear someone opening my front door, it’s dark outside. The lights are off in my room, so I’m sitting in the dark and have no idea how much blood is soaking the carpet under me.

“Aziah!” Trouble calls out, but I ignore him.

A moment later, a bright light floods the room behind my closed eyelids.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Emo,” he growls. I hear him stalking over to me. “What in the fuck have you done?”

I open my eyes and look down at the damage. My arms are torn to shreds, and my jeans are soaked with blood.

“Go home, Trouble,” I say, devoid of any emotion.