I didn’t miss. I want to distract him, not knock him the fuck out.
“You missed. Here, try again.”
I continue hurling balls across the room until my ruckus disturbs the other patients. Half join my game of patients versus guards dodgeball, whereas the other half scream in hysterics.
The only one not hollering like a maniac locked in a psych ward is Claudia. She slips out through the door unnoticed, her exit as quiet as the silent thanks streaming from her eyes.
She shouldn’t be thanking me. Very soon, she’ll be sucking Lee’s cock—just not until I tell her to.
three
DEXTER
Three days later, I enter the rec room on Bryce’s heels. He overturned the two-week ban Lee instilled in retaliation for our one-sided game of dodgeball after he ‘accidentally’ entered my room while I was dressing.
It wasn’t an accident, but since a peek at my cock was required for me to regain access to Claudia, an impromptu strip was in order.
Bryce is hoping his leniency will increase his chance of us becoming friendly.
He is sorely mistaken.
Sneaking a peek at my flaccid cock is one thing. Touching it is another. I’ve toyed several times with the idea of killing him just for wanting to look. It’s mainly in fantasy, for the most part. I want to see if he squirms the same way when his veins are drained of blood. I doubt his thighs would still press together after I nicked the vital artery pumping through them for my experiment.
After pushing aside the joy I get from imagining the life fade from his eyes, I return my focus to the task at hand. It takes me scanning the loon-filled space three times before I spot Claudia sitting in the corner of the room. She’s wearing her favorite attire—a floral print dress and ankle boots. Her hair that looks recently washed is pulled back with a fancy clip, and her face is void of any marks.
Lucky or the silent threat I issued Lee three days ago would have become a reality. I don’t give a fuck if the carcass is riddled with maggots. If I’ve claimed it, you don’t touch it—ever!
My steps to Claudia slow when a high-pitched voice squeaks, “You won’t get anything out of her. She’s a cookie that’s been dumped into a coffee mug too many times… all soggy and crumbling.”
An emo-looking female with heavy eyeliner, stark black hair with a purple stripe down one side, and a face as white as a ghost steps out of an alcove. As she heads my way, she tugs down her sleeves to hide the fresh cuts on her arms. She tries to act tough like she hasn’t detected the evil leaching from my pores, but her wobbly knees give away her genuine response.
She’s petrified. Justly so. The guards are wary about approaching me, and they’re armed with skull-cracking batons and mace, and don’t get me started on their mind-fucking candies.
Hoping to divert my attention from her, the unnamed female nudges her head toward Claudia. “She doesn’t talk. Not that she doesn’t want to. She just doesn’t. From what I’ve heard, she hasn’t spoken a word in over five years.”
Although I’ve never been one to believe rumors, this goth-lover has an honest edge not unusual for the disturbed. She doesn’t cut herself for attention. She does it for the solace. An immense amount of silence comes when people don’t understand you. That’s why I’m shocked she’s reaching out to me. I don’t give off friendly vibes because I’m not a welcoming guy.
A vein in the unnamed girl’s neck twitches when I hover over to her. “If she’s mute, who’s your source?”
My back molars grind when she swings her eyes to the right. Lee is standing at the side of the rec room. He wears his uniform cap down low, hoping it will hide the direction of his gaze.
It doesn’t.
Even if I couldn’t feel the heat of his stare, the rapid bounce of his head as he strives to keep Claudia and me on his radar is a surefire indication that I’ve secured his attention, much less his hand floating over the undone clip of his baton case.
My eyes drift back to Ms. Sun-hater. “Are youfriendlywith the guards?” The way I express ‘friendly’ ensures she can’t mistake my question.
She quirks her black-painted lips before pulling a face. “No. I’m not their type.” Her voice is more pleased than dissatisfied. After scanning the room to ensure we don’t have any extra eyes focused on us, she murmurs, “But I am roommates with Claudia, so I’ve got my ears close to the ground.”
I arch a brow. I was under the assumption Claudia’s pasty white skin meant she was a patient on my side of the ward—the one for the real loonies. I had no clue she walked the halls with the lesser evil crazies. This is an interesting development I never anticipated, one I hope to exploit to my advantage. I ignored the voices in my head for years to get transferred to a facility like Meadow Fields, as the freedom was worth the boredom. But Claudia and this freaky-Friday contestant don’t have to walk the same line I’m walking. They can occasionally step over it.
That’s an advantage—a fucking massive one.
“Have the guards ever paid Claudia a late-night visit?” I clench my jaw, annoyed at the protectiveness in my voice. Claudia isn’t a little doll for me to play with. She is a pawn. Nothing more.
Don’t get me wrong, I like my women broken, but Claudia is an entirely different type of cracked. I crave women with disheartened spirits, not ones with destroyed heads. Claudia has both.
She is all types of fucked-up.
