Page 67

ATTICUS

She didn’t need me. I thought for sure that she would, but she didn’t. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Pride wells within me, followed by the realization that my Strawberry Girl is more than capable of finishing this on her own. My stomach drops at the thought. Will she keep me around if I don’t benefit her in some way?

Holding tightly to Lyr, I envelop her, and the combination of smells—home and regret—not from us, though. I don’t regret a single thing that’s happened.

Kristine wracks sobs against the wall, occasionally wiping at the nothingness on her face, and it makes me even more anxious for the reaper to collect her. She’s annoying and I’m tired of her shitty theatrics.

“For the love of God, shut up,” I say firmly.

Kristine flashes me a look of disdain before sniffling, wiping at her face once more, and adjusting her hair and clothes. I observe her, wondering why her appearance means so much to her. She’s dead. I want to tell her that no one cares, but I refrain from wasting my breath on someone so vain.

Cash jolts awake and thrashes around in the bed, eliciting grunts and groans. Lyr and I glance at him before looking back at each other. I search Lyr’s eyes as I try to decipher her expression and prepare for her next move. She looks tired and uncertain.

I can only imagine the toll this is taking on her—the mental and physical energy she’s expelling, and the navigation of the Veil that she’s mastering as she goes along. I give her a weak smile. It’s all I can think to do while I wait for her to use her words.

“Can I be honest?” She asks, hesitantly.

“Of course.”

“I’m exhausted. I don’t know if I can end this.” She points at Cash and clears her throat, “Him.”

I can see the conflict that is the blue-gray storm swirling in her eyes.

“Do you want me to do it?” I don’t want to overstep, but I need her to know that she can lean on me if she needs to. I have no qualms about eliminating the problem.

“No, I just… need a minute.” She speaks at a sound just above a whisper.

I’m slightly worried that she’s crashing, and now is the worst possible time to do that. I cup the back of her head and nuzzle her face back into my chest. Petting her hair slowly, I feel her soften into me. I love the feel of her; her plushness, her delicateness, her tender heart. Everything about her makes me want to be the best version of myself. She deserves nothing less.

We continue to ignore Cash and all the noise he’s making. For someone without a tongue, it doesn’t seem to stop him. Lyr pulls back ever so slightly.

“Can I borrow your knife, please?”

She seems a bit more confident now, and that eases my worries just a little. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my knife, hand it to her, and she thanks me. When she begins to walk away, I pat her on the butt for a slice of encouragement, and she smiles back at me flirtatiously.

I lean back against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest as I observe my Strawberry Girl. She leans over Cash, and Kristine yells as she leans forward from the wall, wiping her nose on her arm. Her spine straightens, and she attempts to appear brave; her words coming out past trembling lips, making her stutter.

“Please stop, Lyric. I—I’m begging you. No more. You’ve done enough, d—don’t you think?”

Lyr whips her attention to her mother, giving her a look of disgust.

“No, Mother. I don’t. You don’t think he did enough when he raped me? When he beat me? Give me one good reason why he should live.”

Kristine opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

“That’s what I thought,” Lyr sneers.

She resumes her actions by unbuckling Cash’s belt, button, and zipper before yanking his boxers and jeans down to his ankles.

“Flounder wants to play one last game.” She harshly tells Cash, “This one’s called ‘Dicked Down.’ I think you’ll like it.”

I push myself off the wall and take a step forward before stopping myself. What in the hell is she doing?

Lyr flicks open my knife and grabs Cash by his limp dick. She pumps it for a minute from base to tip, and I can see Cash starting to relax in her hold. His thrashing turns to a tiny squirm, and his moans sound less pained now. His cock hardens in her grasp, and I can feel my face turning red. She’s mine. She shouldn’t be pleasuring anybody but me. The anger boils in my belly, and I force myself to push past my shallow breaths and breathe in deeply. There’s a reason she’s doing this, I remind myself.

Lyr eventually slows down and holds tightly onto his length as she places my pocketknife at the base of his shaft and begins sawing away. Cash elicits a bloodcurdling scream and tries bucking Lyr off him. I run to the bed and grab him by the ankles. Lyr doesn’t acknowledge me; she just keeps going. Blood sprays and drains from the fresh wound, and Cash’s wiggling around starts to dissipate.

His dick is barely hanging on and Lyr uses one last agonizingly slow motion to sever his penis completely from his body. I grimace at the removal and watch as she forces his jaw open and stuffs his mouth with his own length. She shoves it a little further down his throat, and he goes back to wildly moving around until he eventually stops altogether.