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She’s hitting anywhere and everywhere she can reach, her face a mess of snot and tears and sweat.
The worst part is, I don’t think she knows what she’s saying or doing anymore. Her eyes have turned glassy and she seems numb, like that time she begged me not to hurt her while I was fucking her.
“Nicole,” I call calmly, but she might as well be deaf.
I clasp both her wrists in one hand and push her until her back hits the door. “Nicole!”
“No, no, no…” she chants, her eyes staring right through me, and for the second time, I see fear in her gaze.
Raw, pure fear.
I’m about to let her go but think better of it. I’m such a lowlife for taking advantage of her weak moment, and God will probably call up Satan to dig me a lower hole in hell, but if I don’t do this, I’ll never know.
“Please…please…” she begs.
I tighten my hold on her wrists, grabbing her throat with my other hand. “Please what?”
“Don’t hurt me…I didn’t mean to.”
“Didn’t mean to what?”
“Be a cock-tease, I didn’t mean to! Please, please…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
My jaw clenches and my hand trembles with rage. “What’s going to happen now?”
Her glassy eyes turn into a waterfall of tears as she murmurs, “You’ll hurt me…”
I know I’m the one who came up with this fucked-up idea and Satan is taking notes in the corner, but I wish the earth would crack and swallow me into its hell right this moment.
“Who am I?”
Her lips shake and tears stream inside her mouth.
“Who the fuck am I, Nicole?” I roar.
The name she whispers back smashes my world into bloody pieces.
21
NICOLE
AGE EIGHTEEN
What are the signs of “almost” losing it, discarding the “lucky” badge, and galloping to the sun on a faulty unicorn?
For weeks, I’ve been hanging on the edge that separates sanity from its more destructive antonym. Maybe years.
Is it too late to sign up for therapy?
On second thought, Mum will probably disown me, so that’s not an option for…a lifetime.
Unless I do end up revolving around the sun on my unicorn, after all, and get roasted alive.
Do they have a therapist in hell?
I have no doubt that I’m heading there on the expressway considering all the voodoo I’ve been doing in my head.
Every single imaginary spell is directed at the girls who keep hanging on to Daniel’s arm as if it’s made of gold.
