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This is going to be way too much fun.
CHAPTER 14
ATTICUS
Jake eventually rises off the filthy floor, using the bed to pull himself onto his knees before yanking himself up onto the mattress. He lets out an exasperated sigh before breaking into a coughing fit. He hacks until he dry heaves, causing the blood vessels in his eyes to burst and bulge.
He rolls himself off the side of the mattress, placing his feet on the floor before standing to his full height. Jake wipes drool from the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, and then removes his days-old shirt and walks into the bathroom. He places his top on the seat of the hairy toilet and slips his holey boxers down to his ankles before walking out of them and into the unclean shower.
Jake leaves the dirty curtain open and grabs the rusty shower handle, pulling it down until the scalding water sprays from the showerhead. He hisses at the burn and adjusts the handle jerkily. Only God knows how long it’s been since the housekeeper was last allowed in this room.
I study him—his scrawny abs and protruding ribs poking out beneath a thin veil of skin, his dark, sunken-in eyes; eyes that look evil and exhausted all at once. He just stands there, letting the low-pressure water cling to his chest hair in tiny beads, creating patterns in its wake. Other bits of the lukewarm water bounce off his body in small rivulets and splashes against the glossy acrylic. A small amount of steam fills the musty bathroom before sneaking out the open door.
Even though Jake stands hunched over most of the time, he looks to be about six feet tall. I’d guess two hundred pounds max. I know his age is close to mine, but the dude could definitely pass for someone in their late forties or early fifties. He looks like shit.
I wonder why Lyric ever settled. What was it about this man that attracted her to him? Just from scanning this room, I can tell that he had nothing to offer her. Not because the lack of possessions—materials are just that: materials. They’re replaceable and insignificant. The way he lives, the way he treats his belongings and himself, the way he treats my Strawberry Girl… it all adds up to a worthless man; to an insecure man who leans on physical touch as a way to praise and to punish.
Unlike myself, I use my knowledge to guide and provide. Everything I do will be in the best interest of my girl. Lyr will only ever know the feeling of my lust, my love, my safety.
Jake doesn’t use soap to scrub his vomit and piss-covered body. He doesn’t wash his smelly hair, and he doesn’t brush his yellowing teeth. I’m bored and decide to take matters into my own hands.
I walk into the bathroom and lower the temperature of the room. The space goes from warm to frigid within seconds. Jake shifts uncomfortably and whips the curtain shut. “Atticus, what the hell are you doing?” Lyric whisper-shouts over the sounds of the shower as if he can hear her.
“Are you gonna join? Because if not, I’m not gonna waste time telling you.” I tease.
This guy deserves way more than what we’re about to do to him, but it’s a good start and honestly, this’ll be quite fun for me. There’s not much I can do for Lyr, but I can do this.
With a flick of my wrist, I loosen the metal shower hooks that hold up the curtain. I open the complimentary, sample-size bottle of conditioner and squirt it on the floor in little plops. Lyric shoots me a questioning look.
When Jake shuts off the water by whacking the handle into the shower wall and flings the curtain open as he attempts to step out onto the faux tile that’s peeling up in the corners of each slab, he tugs the curtain down, and Jake tumbles out of the tub. The curtain wraps him up like a warm burrito and strikes him across the floor, slamming the top of his head into the door. The door bangs shut at the contact with his noggin.
Lyric just stands there, wide-eyed and covering her mouth. With slaughter on my mind, her reaction almost makes me feel regretful. I don’t need her thinking I’m more of a monster than her murderer is.
A hand reaches around the bottom of the door and pulls back ever so slightly. Jake curses under his breath and pulls himself onto the carpet. He reaches for the ironing board across from the bathroom door and inside the open coat closet. When I realize what he wants it for, I smack it down just as he grabs for it. He loses his balance and stumbles, his face scraping into the carpet. A rug burn appears across his cheek.
I don’t know if I’m earning myself any points with Lyr on this or not, but I can’t let this heathen walk away untouched when Lyric wasn’t able to walk away still breathing. Pondering what her life could have been like if he hadn’t stolen it from her, I envision her as a wife, a mother, a friend, a coworker, an artist… I imagine what was on her bucket list and what dreams she had for herself.
Lyr has built herself from blues so vibrant; she radiates orange. She is fire made from inadequacies and condemnation. My girl is like heavy rain during an explosive sunset on a cool summer’s eve. Fabricated from hope and wonder, sprinkled with fight and fearlessness even in death—she is pure power.
I don’t doubt the strength she must’ve had to fight back, but anger rears its ugly head when I think about how she lost. She lost a fight that fate never intended for her to win, one that was programmed to fail from the very beginning.
Knowing that Jake was the deciding factor in her future pisses me off, and I slam my fist into the locked door. The chain rattles, and the deadbolt slips free, causing the exit to open a crack. I receive a disapproving glance from Lyr and, in response, I hold my breath, as if that will keep me from drawing attention to myself.
I remind myself of the only reason I care. I would wring his neck right here and now if it weren’t for big blue eyes leering at me. Lyric brings out a side of me I don’t always like while simultaneously making me think about my actions before I carry them out. She’s making me a better man for it—for her. I would do anything she asked me to, including nothing at all.
CHAPTER 15
LYRIC
“Psst. What the hell are you doing?” I understand the overall plan—kill Jake—but I'm lost on the smaller parts. Atticus slams the door shut just as quickly as he had unintentionally opened it, and Jake scrambles across the floor, wiggling his way out of the curtain with his shirt still clutched in his palm.
“What the fuck? Who are you? Who’s here?” he asks all panicky.
Jake’s always been a man of many questions and not a single answer for anything. The man isn’t book smart or street smart—which is the worst kind of human because you can’t ask him a math question or how to do his own laundry. It’s really unfortunate.
Gesturing to the opposite side of the room, I wave Attie on to follow me. We’re too close to Jake and I need space. Jake continues to sputter incoherent words and fidget uncomfortably as he uses the shirt that he was wearing prior to his shower to dry himself off before tossing it back on. He fumbles as he finds, what I assume is, clean underwear and puts them on left foot first and then right, toppling onto the side of the mattress. The man is stupidly clumsy when he’s not intoxicated, so it’s even worse when he is.
I take my attention away from him and back to Attie. He’s waiting patiently for me to say something, and the words sit at the base of my tongue before I swallow them down once more. My rotting corpse appears in my peripheral vision, and I gag again.
