Quintessentially Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)(57)

I didn’t bother to retaliate or care.

My father in his tweed suit and leather cap looked down like I was shit on his shoe. “I disagree with your mother. Beat the shit out of those girls. You’re a killer. Embrace it. You’re not one of us. You’re one of them.”

The iciness in my bones was replaced with sickly heat. The room transformed from grey concrete to bright red, flowing with blood.

Gallons of crimson—blood from my victims. Litres and litres of scorn stained my hands.

No! I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want to do it. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.

Time continued on without me while I died slowly on concrete and became a gelatinous, mind-f*cked blob.

*****

Leather Jacket came for me one day. I’d been on my own for so long, my mind craved human contact. Any human contact.

My heart actually jumped when he came for me.

“Time for your next training session, puta.” He nudged me with his foot. “Get up.”

I no longer knew how to speak or move or pretend to be human. I was cold and hungry and I desperately wanted to go home.

I tried to conjure images of Q. Remember his house and Suzette’s warm embrace. But I came up empty. All those happy memories were blank.

Tears tried to form in my eyes, but it’d been so long since I’d had anything to drink only a single droplet formed.

Someone hoisted me to my feet. Cold concrete was replaced with frigid air as Leather Jacket scooped me up, holding me against his repulsive frame. My body, so, so cold, huddled into him even though my drug-fogged brain fled in repulsion.

Leather Jacket chuckled. “Starting to like me? Huh, bitch?” He licked my cheek, walking us to the door. “You’ll like me even more after today.”

My heart tried to race, terror tried to kick-start adrenaline, but my fight was stolen. Gone. Disappeared.

One moment we were still in my room. The next we were half way down the corridor.

Then we were in another room.

Then in another corridor.

Blocks of time disappeared, leaving me with a splattering of photographic images.

How much longer before I completely lose my mind?

One moment someone tossed me onto the floor of a shower and sprayed me with a hose. A second later, I was clothed in a red dress, short and slutty. It was meant to cling to curves and accent sexiness, yet it didn’t do any of those things—only amplified how skinny and sickly I’d become. But at least the fabric was clean. After decaying inside Q’s damp shirt for days, it was heaven. Loneliness wrapped around my heart as Leather Jacket yanked the material from my hands and threw away the only thing I had left of Q. The last connection I would ever have to the man who owned me completely.

“Give it back.” I shuffled forward, trying to get to the rubbish bin behind Leather Jacket.

He pushed me to the floor, laughing. “You get nothing that you want. Unless you want my cock.”

I curled up on the wet tiles, trying so hard to keep my mind from skipping off into some other dimension. A dimension where I no longer had to fear every time I woke up and suffer every time I went to sleep.

Time flickered and the bathroom no longer existed.

Something starchy was forced down my throat, followed by fresh, delicious water.

Then I was standing over a girl with a club in my hands.

Time flickered again. I blacked out.

Spray. Hot, wet, metallic spray. It splashed across my face and I instantly gagged.

Oh, God. No!

I dropped the club, clutching my stomach as my retching turned into racking coughs. The blood on my lips entered my mouth and I scratched frantically at my tongue.

I couldn’t have her blood in my mouth. I couldn’t!

Someone grabbed me, hoisting me upright. I kept coughing and bucking and I finally snapped completely. Words strung from my mouth, interrupted by huge barks. I made no sense. I didn’t need to make sense. They understood. They knew that my breakdown marked the beginning of the end.

My mind wanted out. I reached the end and the taste of a girl’s blood in my mouth was the last straw.

I hurt her. I didn’t know how. I didn’t remember. But I did something horrid and she suffered at my hands.

I can’t live with that! I tried harder to get loose, wriggling, biting, coughing, snarling.

“Fuck, someone give her something. The other dose isn’t doing jack.”

I twisted and bucked, only seeing compressing walls and being suffocated by the horrible cough hijacking my body.

Someone grabbed my legs and I kicked out.

“Ouch, you bitch!” A cuff caught me around the head, but I was no longer in my body. I was in some other world where I wanted with every wish to die.

A needle punctured my flesh and administered the ghostly ice I’d grown to know so well. Spreading its white smog through my blood, stealing my body, killing my mind.

My coughing stopped and I hung utterly spent in someone’s arms.

“That’s better. Let that kick in. She’ll be cutting them up like Picasso again in half an hour.”

The image of me slicing off body parts and arranging them in some terrible piece of art kept me occupied while I floated into demise.

*****

When I came to, I lay flat on my back, wheezing like a ninety-year-old smoker. My ribs shrieked with agony and my lungs felt as if someone had filled them with pond scum.