Page 79 of Shattered In Darkness

He leaves me there, ruined and wrung out, the mattress cold, the storm pressing against the walls like the future itself. And I know, in the hollow of my gut, that nothing between us will ever be the same again. Not after tonight.

My Brody is my tormentor. I think about everything he has done to me since he took me here and I suddenly feel the urge to vomit. I never thought Brody would touch me like that, or talk to me like that.

But I never thought my mom would die and leave me alone with a monster.

I close my eyes and take deep breaths. Brody isn’t Marcus. I remind myself. Brody is my first love. Brody is not a monster.

Even as I tell myself that, though, I think about his recent actions, and I wonder: Have I ever been safe with him? Or was I too young to see that darkness in him? Is the mask new? Or am I the blind one?

It would be ironic if I’ve been terrified of Marcus for years, wondering if he will kill me, when Brody is the one who might finish me.

My first love. My first heartbreak. My monster.

24

BRODY

There’s something loose in my head. Every hour down here, it rattles louder. Rage, hunger, confusion. All fused together like wires sparking under my skin.

I barely remember anything from the other night, I was so fucked up on drugs and alcohol. I blacked out completely.

I pace the hall. The urge to destroy something—her, myself, the world—swells and surges until I can barely breathe.

Everything is fucked. Nothing lines up the way it should. I tell myself I’m in control, I remind myself why this has to happen. Keep her caged, make her talk, make her crack until the truth spills out. I need it. I need to know if she’s just another fucking liar or if she really is poison. If Marcus used her, if she was in on it, if she killed my mother by just existing.

But every time I see her—shaking, ruined—I feel the power slip. I want to make it all make sense. I want to own her, break her, make her beg. I want to hurt her so bad she finally admits what she’s done. Or maybe so she finally forgives me for being a monster.

I can’t tell the difference anymore: love, hate, control, mercy. It’s all just noise.

If I let go, if I stop, I’ll drown. If I keep going, maybe I’ll finally feel clean. She’ll give in. She has to. I’ll make sure of it.

When I found out that Richard was planning on having his men take her, I snapped. I would never get her back if that happened. She would be gone for good. I know what kind of techniques Richard uses for torture or revenge, and there is no way in hell I will let him touch her. If anyone will get the truth out of her, it’s me. So, I intercepted the van, killed the men, and took what’s mine.

The memory stains my hands. Everything I do, I do for her. Everything I wreck, I wreck for her.

I pace the halls. Sometimes I listen to her in the basement. The little noises she makes. Sobbing, sometimes. Sometimes nothing at all, and that’s worse.

I want to go down. I want to see fear in her eyes. I want her to feel the way she made me feel. Alone. Torn. Useless.

Every thought circles back to Marcus. The way he destroyed my mother, destroyed everything good, and got away with it.

He thinks Lola is still his. I know better. He never earned a fucking thing. He only took.

I hear Lola breathing. The heater kicks on. Somewhere, the wind howls. The daylight is covered by a sheet of gray snow. Nobody knows where we are. Not even a god.

I go down to her. The basement air is cold. The steps groan under my weight. I want her to be scared. I want her to know I could snap her in two if I wanted. The thrill of it is a poison I keep swallowing, again and again.

She’s curled on the mattress. New clothes cover her body, but I know what’s underneath. Her skin. The bruises. My marks.

Her eyes go wide when she sees me. I stand over her, fists clenched. She pulls the blanket tighter, but it doesn’t matter. I see right through her.

“You get it yet?” I say. Quiet. Enough to echo. “You understand what you are down here?” She doesn’t speak. Her shoulders shake. She’s so easy to ruin. “I’ll spell it out for you,” I say. I’m closer now. Voice lower. “You’re nothing, Lola. You’re mine. You wake up when I say. You piss when I say. You don’t even get to breathe unless I allow it.”

Her jaw shakes. She tries to look at anything but me.

“You still want to run?” I demand. She’s silent. “I saw you, you know,” I say. “Saw the look in your eyes when you bolted for the door. Did you want me to chase you? You did. You always want me chasing you. Pathetic.”

She shakes her head. Just the tiniest bit.