Bitter Angel (26 page)

I shy away in disgust. My grunts start to become whimpering moans, but I instantly shut them down. I won’t let myself go there—where I went last night.

I won’t retreat.
I won’t! This is not how I go! This is not over!
I shift my eyes to his, showing him he hasn’t won. He’ll never win me, no matter what he does to me.

He sniffs me again, smearing more blood on my lips. He’s not kissing me, just rubbing. Nothing I do deters him. He moves with me, feeding off my every squirm.

“Fuck, I want you now. I don’t want to wait.”

“No.” My voice is shredded.

His nostrils flare, eyes wild with want. He’s an animal. No human could look at another human this way.

“No.” I clench my mouth until my molars ache from the pressure. “NO!” I bare my teeth, neck muscles straining forward. “Go ahead and rape me, you piece of shit. You’ll never
really have me.
Never!
”

He’s not fazed in the slightest. I don’t know why I thought he would be. His knee comes between my legs, forcing them apart.

I shriek in his face, “
You’ll never have me!
”

Taking his chances, he eases up on my injured wrist and grabs a fistful of my hair, like I did moments ago to him. His voice drops to a deadly low. “I’m thinking a bite now and the whole cake later. And trust me, later you’ll be fucking begging me—”

I soldier on, eager to strike a chord in him, get a rise, something more than this indifference and undisputed self-confidence. “What?” I spit. “What the fuck made you this way? You rich, privileged bastard. Your daddy couldn’t love you, so you went rogue?”

My own words make me laugh.
Rogue.
Sounds like
007.
His nostrils flare. I’m not sure if it was the snarky remark, the laugh, or both, but it hit home. I’ve affected him. Finally.

I dig my hole a little deeper. “I saw your picture. The one where your parents and you are looking all normal, and they have no idea that you’re about to turn into the spawn of hell. So much potential.” I click my tongue condescendingly. With a small smile, I whisper, “I guess you just weren’t worth their efforts.”

His smirk is gone, and in its place is a hatred more lethal than I knew existed. “You think you’ve got me figured out? You’ve done your homework. Impressive for such a dumb bitch.”

In Lila-like fashion, I badger him more, unable to help myself. My previous sense of self-preservation has completely vanished. My loose mouth is all I have now. “The only bitch here is you, hoping to win your daddy’s attention with all your bad behavior.” My smile is a little weaker, but still says,
See? You didn’t win.

The satisfaction of it is short-lived, however.

His jaw tenses, upper lip jumping, and I see the real bitch here is Karma. My snotty attitude and carelessness are about to reap a hefty reward. By the time I see his fist headed for my face, it’s too late. Knuckles hit my eye socket, and my skull bounces off the pavement with a sickening thud. Compartments in my brain blink out, one at a time, at breakneck speed.
Blink, blink, blink, blink, blink.
Eyesight is the last to go, and his satisfied smirk is the last thing I see.

It’s lights out. Again.

Waking up after being artificially put out for the fourth time in less than forty-eight hours is no picnic. Maybe I can’t really count last night’s episodes since the reality of that is up for debate, but this is still count two for today. There is no springing out of bed this time. No adrenaline left to surge me to my feet.

Upon consciousness, the first thing I do is listen with my eyes closed. I hear nothing but faint drips of water in the sink, wind rattling a window, and a door creaking slightly on its hinges. My eyes dizzily blink open and…nothing. No Alpha stalker watching in the corner. No Trigger to save the day. No one to rescue or harm me. For now.

The moldy smell makes my lip curl up. This place is worse than the room I was in last night. I assess my body for injuries. My arm no longer tingles, but my wrist is sore, probably in the early stages of bruising. The pulse in my head flicks shooting pains like there’s an unconnected wire and it’s rerouting. My eye socket feels caved in.

I think this is the first apartment I spotted Alpha in today. I’m sprawled out on a lone mattress on the living room floor, bound with a damn trusty zip tie, and undressed to my black lacy skivvies.

I awoke face down, and it requires a tremendous amount of effort just to get to my side. Once I’m there though, I half-heartedly look around. When I glance down at myself, I laugh. It’s not a hysterical, full-out crazy laugh. It’s more like a doomed giggle that becomes a pitiful cry. I don’t even know why anymore. I’m no longer in charge of my emotions. They seem to run me now.

I only let that go on for a few seconds, reminding myself to conserve any and all energy, no matter what. But I’m not awake for long. The throbbing at the back of my skull plays an impossible match of ping-pong, zinging waves of pain from the back to the front to the left and the right. With my hands restrained, I can’t check for blood or measure the damage. I can’t touch it, massage it, or soothe the pain away. I’m powerless.

Those powerless thoughts give way to unguarded nightmares.

I’m in and out of consciousness for the next few hours. The only indicator of the time is the darkening of dusk to midnight. I’ve since flopped around and now have a decent view of the window, but I don’t go to it. I don’t try to gnaw through my shackles or saw them off in the wooden doorway. I don’t try to kick out the glass. I don’t attempt escape at all.

It would be pointless.

Behind the window is a row of iron bars, and installed on the front door are three locks—a deadbolt, a lock probably put in by the owners, and another one underneath it requiring a key from the outside to get in. I’m trapped.

This apartment was sanctioned for this type of thing. For girls like me, who’ve lost all control and don’t learn their lesson the first time around. Who keep fighting even though winning was always above reach.

It’s a prison for criminal’s prisoners.

How could I have ever thought that what happened last night, and being given a second chance today, was in any way a message for me to stick my nosey-ass nose where it didn’t belong? Was I never meant to be a doctor? Meant to help people? Save them? I tried to save someone.
I tried…

A tear escapes, trailing over the bridge of my nose and onto the bare mattress. I find myself envying its freedom. It can escape, but I can’t.
What a joke,
I think as I close my eyes and sleep.

It’s darker than dark out now. The kind of dark that only this brand of wickedness can possess. I have no idea what the actual time is. Ten, eleven, one a.m, maybe two. It doesn’t really matter. I’m just waiting out my fate in the boredom and torment of stillness while my mind wanders to dark corners that were never destined for light.

I think about what led me to this and what led me here.
How did this day—two days—get so screwed up?
I thought I was meant to stop this. Instead, I egged on the boss and pissed him off even more. Who knows who he’s taking it out on or what he’s doing?

God…

My eyes sting and water, shaking loose all the false hopes I’d built up over the course of the day. What began as good intentions will end in total defeat.
Evil triumphs good. But that’s real life, right?

I never wanted this. I didn’t ask for it. I’m no hero, no martyr. I’m just a girl who tried to do the right thing, who was supposed to do the right thing and couldn’t. I’m a human tragedy that’ll die only to become a bitter angel, whether that’s soon or someday far from today. No bell will ring for me. I’ll never get my wings. If I live through tonight, I’ll be messed up for the rest of my living life, so I guess it’s neither here nor there.

Jay’s face swims before me, a wavering, watery image. Will I ever see him again? Make love to him again? Fall asleep in his arms? Snot into his T-shirt? Close my eyes as he sings to me? Push that one damn stubborn curl out of his face?

Will I get to tell him how much I love him one more time? Or say how damn sorry I am for dragging him into this mess?

If you can hear me, Jay, I love you. Always have. Always will. What you did…I know you did it to protect me. Out of love. Your heart was in the right place.

I don’t know what I’d be without you. Probably just a lonely girl whose parents make more war than love. I thought that was what all relationships were before you, but you taught me that it could be different. That we didn’t have to be a product of our circumstances, our upbringings, our families.

I’m nothing without you. I’ve felt that way for a long time, but I thought that was a dangerous way to think and didn’t want to end up one of those girls that didn’t know who they were without their boyfriends.

I was wrong, Jay. I was wrong for shutting you down all those times you tried to talk about one of us transferring schools. You’ve never hidden from me that you’re nothing without me. I only wish now that I could tell you exactly how I feel.

You’re my butterfly. You always were.

As soon as I knew I could turn your heartache into a smile, I was addicted. I wanted to always be the one to put that smile there. That shine in your eyes. Because I knew it was for me and no one else.

It’s selfish, really. But if loving you is selfish, then so be it.

I remember the first time your sixteen-year-old chapped and inexperienced lips touched mine. A lightning bolt struck my heart. I’d never felt that before, and I just knew. Like the first time your shaky, vulnerable hands ran through my hair, telling me it was “soft as goose feathers.” What boy says that? Only you. Soft as goose feathers…no other words have been able to make me giggle and liquefy my heart into a puddle at the same time. I still laugh sometimes when I think about it.

I remember the first time you came to my house. We sat on my front porch and talked for three hours about nothing and everything. You touched your fingertip to mine. I remember begging Jesus of the Heavens that you wouldn’t be able to hear my heart beating like a freaking racehorse.

You gave the goofiest yet amazingly uncanny impersonation. With our fingertips touching, you said, “E.T., phone home.” It was dorky. I couldn’t have cared less. In that moment, I knew. I didn’t have to phone home because I’d already found it with you.

I remember the first time you wrapped me up in your arms and told me I was safe. I still feel that way, Jay. My heart is safe with you, and I know you feel the same.