I squeeze my pale flesh after I send Connor a text with my address, begging for a ride. I don’t do small talk. Connor doesn’t talk at all; I think he’ll appreciate all the information at once.
Ten minutes pass.
I’m sitting on the threadbare carpet of the living room floor, glancing at the crumbs from crackers my mom probably left here days ago. I reach for one, no bigger than a speck, but it’s better than nothing.
My phone vibrates in my lap.
Be there in fifteen.
I snatch up the crumb anyway, let it stick to my skin. Plop that in my mouth. I close my eyes, relishing the taste.
It tastes like nothing.
I put my hands on my belly and squeeze, hoping to God fifteen minutes pass by faster than an entire day and night away from the devilish boy with blue eyes did. He’s not my first hook up, and I doubt he’ll be my last.
But sex like that…I wanna do it again.
Let it go. He’s not coming back here.
I try not to let that bother me; I don’t even know him. He’s out of my league, financially, emotionally, physically.
But when Connor picks me up, I can’t help but glance around the dirt driveway my trailer is on, think about Maverick maneuvering his stupid car over the potholes. Think about him pushing his stupid bowl of food over to me.
Think about his hands on my throat. All the stupid bruises he’s left on my body.
How can someone be both so brutal and so…kind?
Maybe I’m just fucked in the head to think anything he did was kind.
I toss Connor a smile and he smiles back, warmth in his gaze. That’s kindness. He’s the type of boy I should crawl into bed with. He wouldn’t even leave a single mark.
Tragic.
Chapter Seven
Tuesday morning and the sun is barely up, but for some reason, I am. I went to Ella’s Sunday night, after Council.
There still wasn’t a car.
I couldn’t bring myself to knock on the door, so I walked back to my own ridiculous car, parked outside of the trailer park.
Yesterday, I fucked a girl I barely knew. Some chick from AU named Chelsea that I usually only see at parties. I went to her apartment so I wouldn’t have to deal with her when it was over.
I came inside her mouth, in a fucking condom like I was in a porn shoot following the laws, and I closed my eyes, thinking of Ella. Hated myself a little more when I was done.
I have so many things I need to do today, and I want to do exactly none of them. I want to barricade myself in a closet, get high as fuck, maybe snort a line. Disappear into my head and let my own monsters eat me alive.
I want to feel something bad.
I bite the side of my fist, press my back against the couch. Both hurt; none of them hurt as much as I want them to.
Ria.
I run my hand over my face, groaning. I promised her I’d see her every morning, and I’m not so sure she wants me to keep that promise, but it doesn’t matter. I said I would, and I already fucked up Sunday. Yesterday she was asleep.
This morning it is.
I stand at the door to the basement, holding my breath. The door is locked with a keypad that only opens with my thumbprint. I think of the 6 coming in here. What they’d do if they found out I was keeping her here. Maybe they know.
I think of Ella; what would she say if she knew I had a girl down here? I think maybe she’d be mad it wasn’t her. The thought makes me smile, but I push it aside.
She makes me feel bad and good all at once, and I fucking hate that. Hate how her green eyes lock on mine when I treat her like shit while I fuck her. Hate how those same eyes look at fucking macaroni and cheese like it’s a gift from god.
Hate how in the twenty-four hours I spent with her, she made me feel like a god.
I exhale, close my eyes a second. Try to breathe normally as I think about facing Ria again.
Lucifer’s words from weeks ago echo in my head. This is about a girl you can’t love. You can’t love her, and you can’t let her go. I grit my teeth. Because you know Ria is going to die, too.
And then Poe, echoing around in my skull like bats in a decaying attic: The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
The Premature Burial.
The premature burial.
Father Tomas and his ill-disguised advice. Is locking her in a basement any better than death?
I slam my fist against the door, wishing it would hurt a little more than it does. Then I press my thumb to the keypad, and it lights up green, a soft click as it unlocks. I twist the knob, step inside the darkness at the top of the stairs and take another deep breath.
The door closes behind me and I don’t move for a long, long moment, seeing nothing in the pitch black. It might be morning, but it’s still early. Maybe I’ll wake her. Maybe I should turn around and go back out, lock the door back. Deal with this another day.
I have papers to look through from the 6. People I should be watching. Things I need to stay on top of before they become breaking news. People to kill.
A job to do.
But I promised her.
And even though I know she hates me and probably couldn’t give a fuck about what I did or didn’t promise…I don’t want to make this worse for her than it already is.
Then again, is seeing my face any better?
Frozen with indecision, I let the seconds tick by and eventually, she decides my fate for me.
“I can hear you, you know.” Her voice is groggy, but I don’t know if I woke her or if she just hasn’t gotten out of bed yet.
I take one step down the steep staircase, then another. “Good morning.” I try to keep my voice light as I force my feet to move down the stairs, the polished wood cold against them.
I clench my hands into fists in my pockets, feel the chill of the dark basement as I descend further. There’s a heater down here, but she rarely uses it.
I hear her laugh. It’s bitter, and she’s not a bitter person. When I first met her, she was so bright. Eager to learn. A little nosy, but I encouraged it. It drew her to me. I don’t think she’d have ever thought to fuck someone like me otherwise. She wanted knowledge. Maybe she wanted a little power, too, but she’s graduating this year with a teaching degree in history, and she adores Alexandria.
She wants to know all of its dark little secrets.
Now, though, she knows too many. And I have no idea what to do with her. Just like I have no idea what to do with Brooklin. Save her? Leave her? Let her live?
My father let Brooklin go. Kicked her out but let her go all the same. At the time, I hated him for it. I understood what he thought; that she’d made Atlas betray us by disguising herself, tempting him to sleep with her. But he gave in to the temptation, and at the end of the day—who fucking cares?
My father did, though. Maddox Astor, my tormenter and savior. Guiding me and bringing me down all my life, as if he was incapable of doing one without the other. When he used to beat me, he never actually seemed angry about it. To him, it was just a part of parenting.
When he beat my mother, he was furious.
And he did just that after Malachi, when they got home from their trip, bursting into the house with wide, disbelieving eyes.
She screamed louder than I’d ever heard anyone scream in my life. I’d hidden in the same closet I’d been locked in right before…