VIOLA
About fourteen hours into his withdrawal, Jude looks like shit. He stayed the night until it was obvious none of us was going to get any sleep, and then I kicked him out. Sleep is one of the most important requirements before a job. If you’re not getting any rest, you may end up fucking dead. And as much as Jude looks to be in pain, I draw the line at losing valuable shut-eye, so I made him go back to his own room where he can toss and turn to his heart’s desire.
I’m not very good at being sympathetic.
But I’m good at doing my job, and so as long as I see Jude as just another job, I’ll be fine. He won’t know that I really just want to punch his face in for fucking his body up or that I’m itching to tie him to a bed and leave him there to get the poison out of his system.
What he won’t know won’t hurt him.
“How are you going to do it?” Jude asks as soon as he turns up to my room during personal time.
I don’t answer him, so he comes and sits in my room as I get ready. He asks me again as we walk all the way to the cafeteria for breakfast. Jude looks nauseated at the sight of what’s on offer—sloppy scrambled eggs, toast, and lukewarm tea. But just like sleep, I also need fuel. I’ll eat whatever they put in front of me.
When I have a full tray, I shoot a glance at Jude, who is still behind me, as I edge my way around the other residents in the cafeteria. Occasionally, one of them touches me, and I have to quell the urge to break the limbs that do.
I find a seat at the back where I can see the whole room and not have to worry about someone behind. The darkness inside of me is starving, throbbing in time with the ache in my wrist. My last kill was two months ago. Granted, it started out glorious. I practically bathed in his blood. But then it was snatched away from me at the last second. I need to see the light behind their eyes fade away because of me—no one else.
And now, everything I think of the color of Kristian’s blood, I see Dino’s.
For a long time, the itch under my skin was subdued, and the hum in my bones was quiet. But it doesn’t last. It never lasts.
Jordan didn’t even have to offer me anything to kill Bateman. I would have done it for free, and I’m going to do it the way I want it done.
Jude has taken a seat opposite me. His face is puffy, his eyes are bloodshot red, and he’s as restless as fuck—obviously not coping with his body’s reaction to going cold turkey straight away.
I could have let him wean off slowly. Oh, but where’s the fun in that? Why would I give him a break? He was the one who got himself in this mess. I didn’t tell him the pills he needs to give to Byron every day can be dissolved under the tongue, either.
As if sensing my thoughts, Jude is glaring at me, mouth open as though he’s talking. Oh, he is talking. “—do I even bother,” he finishes as I catch the end of his words.
“What did you say?” I ask, in all innocence.
“Fuck, Viola, you’re annoying. You’re deliberately not answering my questions.” He huffs like a teenage girl. “I asked why do I fucking bother?”
I give him a level look. “That nurse is watching us again.”
Jude’s eyes flit to the petite brunette. “I’ve not seen her before. She must be new.”
“New?” I repeat.
“Yes, fucking new. Why does that matter, so she’s fucking watching. Let her,” Jude rages on.
I wait until he’s looking back at me to speak to him slowly, so he’ll understand. “Control your mood. You’re being more irritable than usual. It’s making you careless.” Fucking hell, I sound like Dante.
Jude doesn’t notice that I do. He just clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth. The sound sends ugly, unwelcome shivers down my spine. He was doing it all last night in my fucking ear too.
His addictions are becoming an issue. He needs to get himself under control.
“I need to know Bateman’s schedule,” I say after a minute of silence when he’s calmed down.
He looks up and narrows his eyes at me. Finally, he nods. “I can get you that.”
“Good, because planning is everything.”
Jude steals me a staff schedule,and I work out what shifts Bateman has. He’s like every other predator I know—unassuming and unremarkable with his dirty, mouse-colored hair and small, beady eyes. Since I’ve been so consumed with Jude, I wasn’t aware of the monster lurking beneath Bateman’s pasty skin, but now I’m stalking the creep I can’t miss the occasional hunger surfacing whenever one of the younger girls walks past.
I know his type—he likes the innocent ones, the weak ones—the ones who can’t fight back. It makes me see red, so much so that I want him covered in it from head to toe.
I spend the next week studying my prey when he doesn’t think anyone is watching. I take note when he comes out to check on us in the yard for physical activity. I’m aware of him when he skulks around the common area during our mandatory study time. And every breakfast, lunch, dinner, and break, he’s there against the wall, watching, waiting.