Page 69 of Tormented

Eyes open: lazy fan, crack in the plaster.

Eyes closed: Abbey.

Fuck. Clearing the mess from Dana seems to have simply opened the highway for the curiosity over Abbey to kick into high gear.

She didn’t mean for me to see her wrists, but I can’t deny that was one of the things that cemented by obsessive curiosity with her. She thinks we might work the same way, that she can find what’s missing for her by understanding me better.

What if she’s right?

Now isn’t the time to think about that, my devil whispers from his position curled in on himself.

Yeah, I know, but I can’t help but wonder what the hell went down when she went on her roadie and I visited Fort Worth to . . . well . . . .

Fuck things up?

Yeah, that.

Got to watch my back every time I’m in the room with one of those Butcher Boys now. Couldn’t blame them if they did dig the knife in. Fuck, I’d do a hell of a lot worse if roles were reversed and somebody murdered my friend.

You don’t have any friends . . . .

Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?

Still don’t regret the kill, only who it affected.

That’s your problem, isn’t it? The devil stretches out, rolling to his back.

That I don’t mind the kill? Yeah, fucker, it is. And you.

Easy now . . . .

Be a whole lot simpler if you weren’t up there confusing everything.

You can’t blame me for all of it.

Sure gonna try.

You do realize we’re one and the same, right? I’m a part of you, a manifestation of your desires, your better half—

Shut up and go to sleep, cunt.

I block the thoughts of Abbey and her cute butt the only way I know how: popping in my earbuds and cranking up the music. Dark notes fill my ears, slow haunting rock with heavy bass and screaming vocals. It’s the only thing that totally blocks the mess in my head. Can’t concentrate on anything else when I’m focused on the drumbeats and guitar chords echoing around my skull. One song bleeds into the next, my playlist enough to last me for a good hour if need be.

Heart slow.

Head light.

Sleep near.

Somebody in my bed.

What the fuck? Somebody in my bed.

“Ah, damn it! Stop it!”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Abbey stares wide-eyed at me from her position laid out on her back on the floor beside the bed, my hand wrapped around her throat and her body pinned between my thighs as I kneel over her.