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Cody could go places. He could see the world and meet new people. The stupid fucker thinks he needs me, but he don’t. With the determination he’s got, he could have anything he wanted.
The gun rattles in my hand as I lift it to my temple, and as I stare at my reflection in the mirror in front of me, I knock back a huge mouthful of vodka. My finger balances over the trigger, and I hold my breath and close my eyes.
The door clicks behind me, startling me so much that I almost pull the trigger, and when I open my eyes, my brother's staring back at me through my reflection. I don't know if it's pain, anger, or disappointment he’s staring at me with. But it hurts like hell.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Cody drops the grocery bags he’s carrying to the floor and charges at me. I feel the full brunt of his force when he snatches the gun out of my hand, grips my hair and slams my face into the mirror. The cracked glass splinters into my skin, and I feel the blood start to seep down my face and into my eyes.
“Is that what it’s gonna take, Screw? A fucking bullet in your brain to fuckin’ feel something real?” he yells at me, pressing the gun in his hand tight into my temple like he’s gonna shatter my skull himself.
“You want that?” he yells, forcing me harder into the broken mirror with the barrel of the gun. I’m grateful that I can’t see his face because I know how devastated he’ll look. The same way he looked when we found Beth lying on a bed of blood on the bathroom floor.
“Answer the fucking question, you selfish cunt.” I feel the gun shaking in his hand and breathe a long, heavy sigh of guilt.
“No. It ain’t what I want.” I shake my head against his restraint and tell him what he needs to hear.
Eventually, he gently eases off me, and when I straighten myself back up, he shoves the gun hard at my chest.
“Don’t you fucking ever think about bailing on me like she did. Not fucking ever! Ya hear?” he snarls at me hatefully. His eyes are red and swollen from the tears he wants to cry, and I have to look away from him.
He’s right. I’m a selfish cunt.
“Clean up ya face, and pack this shit up,” he gestures to the money on the table, stepping back toward the door and picking the groceries up off the floor.
“Where we heading now?” I put the gun down and pull a shard of glass out of my forehead.
“Manitou Springs.” Cody stands up and tosses a box of Oreos at me. “Mint, your favorite,” he tells me under his breath, struggling to make eye contact with me because he’s too fucking mad.
“What’s in Manitou Springs?” I rip the box open, shoving one in my mouth and swilling it down with a mouthful of vodka.
“You said you were sick of sleeping in shitty motels, so while you were here playing fucking god, I was finding us an alternative.” Cody lights up the blunt he’s had tucked behind his ear and starts shoving our clothes into the duffel bag with the money while I wait for a better explanation.
“I got us a face-to-face with Jimmer Carson… and you and me, brother, we’re gonna become Dirty Souls.”
I shudder when his fingers dig into my scalp, squirming at the heavy breaths he makes. His cock tastes dirty and bitter as he forces it deeper into the back of my throat, but I don’t gag or splutter. I don’t do anything.
I’m trained not to.
I hate the sound he makes when he finishes, his loud grunt my warning before he fills my mouth with a sour taste that churns my stomach. He crushes my head tight in his hands, forcing me to take every last drop of it and then shoves me away, so my ass lands hard on the floor.
I don’t look up. I’m not allowed. Instead, I stare at his black polished shoes and await my next instruction.
“You're getting too good at that, Muñequita.” he snarls, rising up from the chair he’s sitting in and zipping up his pants. I don’t know what the name he gives me means, or even what language it is, but I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.
“Such a shame that it will soon be time for us to go our separate ways.” He strokes over my lip with his thumb before gripping a fistful of my hair and forcing me to look up at him.
He’s cruel, he’s ugly, he’s my trainer, and I live each day to despise him.
He’s never told me his name, yet I know every crease of his face, every decibel of his voice, and every one of his sadistic expressions. When he’s not in here “teaching” or torturing me, he haunts me in my sleep. Those cruel, monstrous eyes burn me as soon as I close my eyes.
Using a grip on my hair, he painfully drags me up and forces me into the chair.
“Your auction is approaching, and you need to be ready.” The way he glares at me as he speaks is proof that he hates me as much as I hate him.
I’ll never defy him, though. I learned my lesson early, and since then, I’ve been good for him.
He has no reason to hate me, not when I fear him enough to do whatever he asks of me.
The auction he speaks of must be important. It’s been days since he’s marked me, and I feel the tension in him for having to restrain from it for so long. He’s like a heated coil waiting to snap. And it gives me a little buzz to think that there’s something that controls him. This auction, whatever it is, is what we’ve been working towards.
