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What the fuck did I just do?
Kicking the bathroom door closed, I flip the light on with my elbow and haul a barely conscious Seth toward the tub.
The heavy sound of “6 FEET UNDER” by GRAVEDGR plays from downstairs, loud but muffled as it shakes the floor and rattles the fancy light fixture above the sink. Each pulse sends flickers of yellowy light over the room like it’s a fucking disco ball.
The walls are bloodred, and for a second, my vision blurs, seeing double, as that red seems to reflect off my fingers.
Dropping Seth into the tub with an unceremonious thud, I turn the shower on, letting it run cold. Hopefully, it’ll shock some life into him so I can get him the fuck out of here and forget this night ever happened.
With a sigh, I scrub my hands down my face and head toward the sink.
Gripping the counter, I drop my head, resting all my weight in my clenched fingers.
Looking up through my lashes, I take in my reflection. The hard planes of my face. My dark tousled hair. My nearly black eyes.
I watch as my jaw works and I narrow my gaze, unable to help myself from remembering the way Aston looked up at me only minutes ago. Wondering what he saw in me to prompt that delicate gulp against the heel of my palm.
For a split second, he looked almost…scared.
Petrified like a cute, ruined little bunny.
So unlike the annoying little shit who’d drugged my boyfriend. The guy who’s made it his mission to provoke me.
He looked like my brother, I realize.
The one I remember. The one that came…before.
The ends of my vision turn black as memories invade.
Three… four… you should’a locked the door…
His childish singing echoes, thrashing around my skull.
Images of Rick flash across my mind as I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head. His snarling face. That heavy gut jiggling about above his open fly. The grubby hands reaching for my neck, his even grubbier dick swinging about.
My nose flares as disgust and something else, something red-hot, sparks a fire in my chest.
I don’t realize I’ve let go of the sink and pulled out the knife from my pocket—the one I swiped from the bedroom floor where it fell—not until I’ve already broken skin, right over where I cut myself all those years ago on a shard of glass.
Just over the meat of my thumb, I watch as ruby red droplets bubble up from the small nick, and fight the urge not to squeeze my hand around the sharp slick metal.
“V-Vale,” a voice whimpers behind me, but I barely hear him.
Not under the blood roaring in my ears.
My mouth ticks up as I glance up through my lashes, taking in my reflection once more.
Dad’s warning from so many weeks ago tumbles through my head.
So much for not poking the beast, I think with a slow shake of my head.
I almost want to laugh at the thought.
Even if worse comes to worst and Aston does remember…
Would anyone actually believe him? Especially after all these years.
Another plea comes from behind me, this one clearer, louder.
