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“It won’t,” I said, perhaps too easily.
“Well, if you can handle it, I probably can, too. If we need to stop, we have to let each other know—to be honest about it.” She sighed. “When he shows up at your office, though, I expect you to call me and tell me what’s going on, okay?” Her voice quavered at the end.
“He’s not going to show up at my office. He’s going to call you, find out you’re in Prague, and see when you’re coming back to the States. That’s what we invited him to do.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
She leaned close and unzipped my pants, catching me by surprise. I pulled off into the parking lot of a closed strip mall as my cock hit the back of her throat.
Chapter Eight: Loïc
Evil is one easy step off the path.
Good is always uphill.
Loïc Leduc, Journal 14
I felt the woman down the aisle from me look my way, but I didn’t glance over. Rude, maybe, but my dream still lingered, and I was too out of sorts to consider what expression my face should have. Instead, I stared at the paint, irritated there was such a sparse selection.
Black. I wanted every shade of it. Red—there was never enough red either. Bizarre, considering I hated the color. Tarryn’s hair had me reconsidering my feelings for red, but it was more orange than red, and it had a luminosity about it that a paint color could never mimic. It made me think of fairies, fireflies, and other magical things. Ethereal, like her.
Sighing, I filled my arms with as many shades of red as I could find, along with the one available shade of black, and a few other colors to mix in, hoping I find a combination adequate to my needs. I paid and made my way to my truck, tossing my purchases in, but the urge to create had passed.
Jack had taught me to redirect my destructive feelings, but sometimes my feelings were too dark to be transformed. Some ugliness didn’t deserve to be preserved for posterity.
The parking lot was almost empty, and the dark city beyond was issuing me an invitation I couldn’t ignore.
I locked my truck and walked.
When I was tired, I kept going, having no plan, wanting to lose myself in the quiet streets.
Martine’s voice whispered in my ear, mocking.
Darkness clung like thick, cold tar, sucking at my soul with every step. I missed the thrill of picking fights with strangers. I thought of pain—the heady scent of blood in my nose. Rage. Fear.
I sighed, wishing I had an outlet for the violence barely contained by the thin prison of my skin.
When this mood came over me, nothing satisfied me except a knife, but I’d promised Jack I wouldn’t do that anymore.
What did they always encourage me to do? Think of something that made me happy. Do something fun.
What was fun, anyway? The word meant nothing to me tonight.
Anhedonia, Jack called it. But it was simply my life.
Did I even deserve to enjoy things?
Probably not.
Away from my family, all I had was Martine and her endless mockery.
She’d only ever gone completely silent once. That night, I’d felt completely human for the first time in my stupid life.
Tarryn. Beautiful, sweet, empathetic Tarryn.
I couldn’t get her out of my head—her and her insufferable husband, who lent her out to strangers as though she wasn’t something to be protected. Treasured.
If she knew how much evil there was in my heart…
