Damn you.
Screw you!
Let me go!
Hot, angry tears blurred my vision.
And then nothing else mattered as he threw me to the floor and planted his foot into my stomach. “Such an ungrateful bitch. The things I do for you!”
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.
Instinct curled me tight, but discipline made me unravel and accept. I’d long since learned trying to avoid his tirade only brought another and another.
“You think you’re better than me. You’re not!”
Kick.
Kick.
My ribs screamed. My lungs suffocated. I hurt.
I’m strong enough to obey.
The doorbell rang with perfect punctuation of his damning abuse. The cheery chime sent blades slicing down my spine.
Breathing hard, he reached down and almost ripped a handful of my hair as he dragged me to my wobbly feet. “Ah, he’s here. Time to play.”
I bit back a hate-filled breath, existing in fire-searing agony.
He let me go, straightening his shirt. “Now that you’ve seen the length of my generosity, it’s time for you to do the same by being the perfect whore for my guest tonight. Get fucking dressed. And come downstairs.”
* * * * *
To No One,
I’m sitting here fingering these strange new clothes, and I don’t want to wear them. Does that make me odd? I don’t want to be confined. I don’t want whatever strands weave this creation to strangle me.
Can you see them—the white monstrosity? No, of course, you can’t because you don’t have eyes or ears or a heart.
He said he has a guest coming tonight. A different one from the usual animals he shares me with.
I don’t know what that means. I don’t like not knowing.
Can I crawl inside your soft squares and hide behind your pencil lines until it’s over?
…
…
I got dressed, No One.
I slipped into the skirt and polo neck and stared so damn long in the mirror. I’m confused why he’s making me wear this. It isn’t sexy. The material hangs off me, hiding my gaunt frame and all the bruises and scars he’s given me.
But why would he do that?
Why hide the accomplishments he’s marked me with? He likes them. He calls them my jewellery. Tells me how generous he is to give me yet another strangled necklace or rope-granted bracelet.
Oh no, he’s calling me.
I don’t want to go.
I have no choice but to go.
THERE WERE MULTIPLE versions of Hell.
Most were cliché-filled and nothing more than a nuisance—overdramatised and the topic of conversation for attention wannabes. However, some versions warranted the name.
One version visited for a brief moment, tore apart a life, and left the ruins for whoever was brave enough to pick up the bloody pieces. Another version appeared especially for bastards, delivering payback for whatever atrocities they’d committed. A third acted as a hurricane, bringing destruction to all those in its path—deserving or not.
And then, there was this.
The lying, cheating form of Hell where every twitch, every vowel had to be carefully chosen and meticulously delivered, because if care wasn’t given, death wasn’t the worst punishment available.
I was in that Hell.
I’d willingly walked into a demon den, and for what?
Why the fuck am I here?
The answer dangled like a worm inside my mind. But if there was a worm inside my thoughts that meant the core of me was bad. A rotten apple slowly devoured by filth.
And it was.
For many years that was exactly what I was.
But not anymore.
Where the worm had tunnelled through my humanity and righteousness, something else had filled the holes. Something that thirsted for power, even though I already had endless amounts. Something that craved wealth, even though I already had oceans. Something that demanded I never forgot who I was at the beginning.
And who I was at the beginning wasn’t a worthwhile citizen. I was shadows and gore and screams. I’d lost my honour, my family, everything that made me human.
Losing everything meant that when I’d gained everything, the luck bestowed on me didn’t make the darkness inside me better…it made it worse.
So goddamn worse.
Not that my new host knew that.
My lips twitched as I climbed from my car and nodded at Selix. “I won’t need your services tonight.”
My bodyguard, driver, and all-a-round minion narrowed his gaze. His dark hair in a bun on top of his head sucked up the light of the early evening, his jaw clean-shaven and sharp. “Are you sure? You know what this man is. You did the research. I would advise rethinking your—”
“I would advise you stop trying to give me advice.”
We’d met in the days before I was someone. An enemy who struggled the same toils I had. When my luck had changed, I’d hauled him from the gutter with me.
After all, there was no better person to employ than an enemy.
If I could buy his loyalty and earn his friendship after we tried to kill each other, nothing could break us apart. We’d built a foundation on something so much stronger than light and happiness. We were forged from the same despicableness.
There’s weakness in that as well as strength.
And because of that, I wouldn’t stop reminding him that I might trust him with my life, but he wasn’t my conscience. Not before, not now, not ever.
I doubt I even have a conscience anymore.
According to my heritage, I was a no one. Not worthy to be called a man.