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That word I can say with no trouble; what sort of sick fuck am I?
“Accidental asphyxiation, it says here.”
I shrug.
Disrespectful son of a bitch.
Shrugging at the mention of a death you caused?
You heartless bastard.
“Reign?”
But it’s too late.
The voice is only getting started.
My teeth grit together so hard something cracks, the metallic taste of blood soon swirling in my mouth.
Dr Lord leans forward, her eyes fixed on mine.
“Listen to me, Reign. You didn’t mean to kill Alannah Hudson.”
My nails dig into the palms of my hands as her mother’s voice screams down the telephone in yet another memory.
‘You sick, perverted fuck! You killed my baby!’
“I didn’t stop.”
Dr Lord remains silent, her eyes swirling with empathy. I don’t need fucking empathy.
Empathy is for people who deserve it.
I meet Dr Lord’s eyes and swallow down the blood.
Why am I bleeding?
“I throat fucked her while she tried to breathe, Dr Lord. Shot my load into her tightened throat, unaware she was gasping for air.”
Dr Lord remains poised, and I’ll hand it to her; I’m impressed that she’s not vomiting or running out of the room.
“You weren’t the only one there, Reign.”
I close my eyes, refusing to imagine the face of that twisted fucker.
AJ West.
“You called nine-one-one.”
The way he’d suggested we cover up the body.
Like she meant nothing.
“You tried to resuscitate her, didn’t you?”
‘I’m not going down for this bitch. She signed a contract; it’ll hold in court, you’ll see.’
“She knew there was a possibility of this happening. It’s risky; it’s also why she signed a contract, just in case, right?”
