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I moved faster than them.
I ducked quicker, hit harder, embraced death that always hunted me.
I would give the Reaper a soul tonight.
I’d give him four.
My fists struck.
My legs kicked.
Ruthlessly, silently, I attacked and pummelled, not feeling any pain as they landed their own strikes. They screamed at each other to defeat me. They yelled instructions on how best to win.
But I no longer spoke their language.
Words were useless.
Savagery was everything.
I was free.
The constant suffocation of hiding. The agonising attempt at ignoring who I truly was.
It was as if a pressure valve had opened.
Spilling out my darkness.
Letting loose my brutality.
I attacked them.
Inhumanly, viciously.
I wanted them bleeding.
I wanted them begging.
I want them in motherfucking pieces.
Chapter Twenty-One
*
Nerida
AGE: 20 YRS OLD
*
(Love in Polish: Milosc)
I’D ALWAYS KNOWN ASLAN HID FROM A large part of who he was. I felt it each time he drove inside me. I tasted it each time he kissed me, and I heard it every night he snarled in his nightmares.
He treated me like I was his master and queen.
Yet beneath his reverence lurked a darker kind of touch.
A touch that could hurt.
