Page 27 of I Will Break You
My body tries to drift back to sleep, but I force my mind to stay alert. The comforter around my waist disappears, revealing my leggings and socks.
A distant voice echoes through the room, a rich and throaty sound that sends shudders down my spine. I feel my tank top rise, exposing my belly as I fight to stay awake and aware in the darkness. Every nerve ending tingles with anticipation of what will come next.
Cool lips press into my skin, making it erupt into goosebumps. This feels so real, but I’m slipping away. I send what’s left of my consciousness into my pinky finger, urging it to move, urging myself to stay awake, but slumber drags me under, and my thoughts go black.
Hours later, my phone rings, pulling me out of sleep. I jerk awake in an unfamiliar, white room, my heart pounding. My thighs clench, only to find my clit is still swollen and aching.
Right. I dreamed that the Grim Reaper came to my bedside toplay with my nipples. The little I remember from last night was hot enough to keep me aroused the entire night. I try to chase the memory, but my phone won’t stop ringing.
I roll to the side of the bed, still fully dressed in my hoodie and leggings, and rifle through my open overnight bag.
“Hello?” I croak.
“Amy?” The anguish in Myra’s voice breaks through my lingering drowsiness.
“What’s happened?” I ask.
“It’s Kayla,” she says, her words choked with sobs. “The assistant who re-mailed your packages and letters?”
I bolt upright. “What’s happened?”
“Her roommate found her dead. It was horrible. She choked on a dildo. Suffocated. How the hell does something like that even happen?”
Cold dread grips my stomach, twisting it into knots. I double over on the mattress, remembering the image of that woman deep-throating a thick black toy that looked nearly identical to the one on my nightstand.
“Amy? Amy, are you still there?” Myra asks.
I gulp. “Yeah. Sorry. Did the roommate call the police?”
She hesitates. “The officers who came said there were no signs of a break-in and it was probably an accident. People die from kinky shit all the time.” She sniffles, and I can tell she’s started crying again. “Her roommate said she was fully clothed.”
I’m on the verge of arguing back and repeating what I told her yesterday, but my phone beeps and vibrates with a call waiting alert that has every fine hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
My anxiety spikes, and Myra’s words fade into the background. Without meaning to, I blurt, “Listen, I’ve got another call waiting. Can I ring you back?”
“Sure. I need to open the store, anyway.” She hangs up.
Thunder rumbles through my phone’s receiver, making me stiffen. “Amethyst,” a deep voice says through the sound of heavy rain. “Look under your pillow.”
“Hello?” I pull the phone away from my ear to check its screen, but they’ve already hung up.
Why did his voice sound so much like Xero's when he called me during that lightning storm?
Because he’s upgraded from text messages to brief phone calls, idiot. Maybe yesterday’s session wasn’t bullshit, and the four of us really summoned his spirit. As Relaney suggested, it must have given him power. If a ghost can make a stereo explode, then it sure as hell can make a phone call.
What I can’t get over is Kayla’s death. Would Xero kill her over a dildo? Probably not. But over the theft of his mother’s locket? Maybe.
I fire up the texting app and scroll through the messages, only to realize he sent the photo to the phone I put in my nightstand.
Another message pops up on the screen:
Look under your pillow.
I message back:
Who is this?
He replies with: