can hear the distinct tune of Tool’s “Schism” with smoke clouding my vision. Or maybe that’s my brain. Everything hurts as my body sways from side to side. My arm throbs where the sting hit it and I slowly gather what has happened. Motherfucker drugged me.
He grips below my shirt and tears it off, and then works on my pants. Tears roll down my face as I fail to stop him.
Fail to fight. Being robbed of my control. I’m going to die here, or, at the very least, wish I did. Jack comes in again, and I watch as he brings the needle to his arm and blows out a cloud of smoke, injecting himself. He pulls my body into him and dances around the barn with me, lost in a drugged haze, before shoving me down onto the hay. The particles fly up around me, my eyes crossing together as I focus on one stick that’s floating down over his shoulder, slowly dropping and dropping. My eyelids flutter, my vision being cut black every two seconds as I fight sleep.
Jack bites at my breasts, and just as he swipes my underwear aside, King’s face appears over his shoulder, and I know I must be dead. There’s a lot of yelling, but I don’t know.
In a perfect world, King would save me, not want to kill me.
In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be lying here, drugged and vulnerable, all for what? For the mistakes of my parents?
In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be a broken girl trying to find her own way.
But this isn’t a perfect world. King isn’t here to save me, but I go with it. My blinking slows as I lean up on my elbows and watch as King’s figure moves fluently in triples. All I see are King and Jack, and then an explosion of blood. My tongue sneaks out, just as Killian and Delila drop down on either side of me. Metal slips over the tip of my tongue. “Revenge?” I whisper to myself, only to myself, because this is a dream. This is not real.
“Yeah, Little Bird,” Killian whispers, only it echoes into my head. “Fucking revenge.” But then Killian is being torn away and so is Delila.
I inhale, recognizing the smell of fresh burnt ash, leather, and honey. King picks me up in his arms and cradles me into his chest. My head tilts back as I finally lose myself in a deep slumber.
I wasn’t saved by Prince Charming. I was saved by a villain, and fuck being on his warpath.
My mouth feels like cotton, my limbs cemented into the mattress. I groan, raising my body off the bed. The smell hits me first, and then I scrub my eyes and open them. The large glass window to the left. The black leather bed, leather dresser, and large TV. The black walls and large white triangle of Kiznitch painted into the wall above the bed.
“Shit.”
The door opens, and King walks through, pausing when he sees I’m awake.
“What happened?” I ask, running my hand through my hair. It feels like straw and I smell. Badly.
“You don’t remember?” he says, attentively stepping inside the room.
“Not really.” I reach for the glass of OJ and take a sip slowly, rejoicing in the cool pulp juice. “God, I smell.”
King shakes his head, and when our eyes connect, we do that thing we always do. When our eyes say the words that our mouths cannot, I see the strain on his face. His pupils dilate, and his jaw sets to stone.
“You can go for a shower, P,” he whispers, stepping forward. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
I squeeze the sheets. “That bad, huh?”
King chuckles. “Yeah, baby. That bad. Come on.” He reaches for me, my hand connecting to his. It’s a small gesture with so much meaning. That’s the thing with King and me. We write our story in invisible ink, so no one else can read it. He tries to carry me to the small steps near his bathroom, but I push him away.
“Stubborn,” he murmurs, and for a brief second, I see the old Kingston I knew all those years ago. Once we’re in the bathroom, he turns the faucet on and waits for it to heat up, closing the glass door. “I wiped your face down when you were asleep. I mean,” he kicks down the toilet cover and takes a seat, “Delila wanted to give you a full-on bath, but I