“Don’t,” I spat. “I hate them. I’d slit their throats one by one if I could.”
“There she is,” he tutted. “Lying again. Such a liar, Elaine. Always such a liar. You’ve always liked your lessons, even when you were a sweet little girl who should’ve known better.”
“No,” I said, but I could hear it in my voice. That confusion. Always such confusion, even down in the depths of pain and hurt and hate.
“As I told you, your mother wants to speak with you,” he said again, and his voice was nothing but flatline, bored. “If you have any sense in you, you’ll speak to her before you leave. The offer won’t be on the table forever.”
He walked away from me without a backwards glance, and I hated myself inside all over again. I hated everything about myself. I hated everything about them. I hated the stupid garden party I was a part of, and I hated everything in my life that was so fake and so filthy both at once.
I couldn’t catch my breath properly. I didn’t want to eat, and I didn’t want to drink, and I didn’t want to speak to anyone, let alone my bitch of a mother, so I did what I’d always done.
I retreated as gently as I could, brushing past the bathrooms in the hallway and slipping my way upstairs to my suite on the top floor of the compound.
Hide. Hide. Hide.
Hide and hurt.
It was my hiding room at the far corner of the landing that I retreated to. I opened the door to the storage room as softly as I could, then slipped inside. I dropped down and pulled my legs to my chest against the old armoire, rocking and crying and trying to hold my breath until I stopped swimming in the hurt.
I needed this.
I needed the remedy I’d used since I was too small to know better.
I lifted the edge of the carpet in the corner and pulled up the loose piece of floorboard I’d been using since I’d very first discovered it was there. Sure enough, it was waiting for me – my stash of wipes, tissues, bandages, band-aids, and a little roll of scalpel blades. I unrolled the felt bundle, already feeling the first hints of calm as I saw the blades there.
I tugged my dress up around my thighs and stared at my scarred skin through glassy eyes, letting out a gasp as I made the first slit in my flesh.
Oh yes.
Oh how I needed that.
How I needed the slice of pain and the tingling release of blood.
I thought of Stephen from London, gurgling on the floor, and I thought of Lucian Morelli’s tongue dancing around mine, and I did it again, another nick of the blade.
God yes.
I thought of how much I’d wanted the monster inside me and how much I’d loved it when he hurt me, and I did it again. Another nick of the blade.
I thought of how wet and needy I was when I thought of Lucian bringing me pain and making me want it, and I did it again. Another nick of the blade that made me hiss out a sigh.
I was bleeding. The blood was hot and dripping. And I wanted more.
Another nick of the blade that brought a rush through me that was better than any coke.
I thought of Baron Rawlings and his swollen red cheeks as he called me a naughty girl with his fat fingers groping at me. I thought of how he’d made me pay, hurting me so hard over his knees as I sobbed and told him I’d be better. I promised I’d be better.
Another nick of the blade.
I thought of Colonel Hardwick and how his naked body was so hard against mine. So big against my small one.
Another nick of the blade.
I thought about all the things my mother had said to me, so many times she’d called me a lying little girl when I’d tried to tell her the truth. All the nasty words she’d said that had shamed me into hiding away. Shamed me into hurting myself, punishing myself.
Another nick of the blade.
I thought about Lucian. Yet again, I thought about Lucian. I thought about the care in his eyes along with the hate and the rage when he killed another man for me.
And then I thought of him killing Colonel Hardwick and Baron Rawlings, too. I thought of him killing the men who’d hurt me when I was too small to know better.
I thought of him killing Reverend Lynch.
I thought about him killing Uncle Lionel for giving me away to the sinners.
I found myself wishing I could tell him the truth. Wishing I could tell Lucian Morelli the truth before I was gone.
Another nick of the damn blade.
The calmness found me, deep and dark. I loved the pain in my legs as they tingled from the cuts. I loved the way my blood trickled and dripped down my thighs.