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Broken girl?

Not broken enough.

What if I could keep her sane and aware forever? What if I kept her...

Or, better. What if I had an unending source of new Reds?

She was my key.

One mistake and I’d be out there, free.

I rose to my full height and stretched to the ceiling, knees popping, muscles strong, fingers finding a dangling rope.

I would be bad for the world.

I knew it.

He chose then to merge into me, and we both knew the same thing, and how I was sorry for what I’d done, to her.

Sort of.

Nothing was ever clear. We wiffle-waffled. Was I him or he me? Were we one or two?

Damn, the world was complicated.

I walked outside, down the steps, and into the sea, the black sea, let it froth all cold and remorseless around my thighs. Let it wash me clean. If I killed myself it would be moot, this struggle.

The sky threw down rain upon me, tapping on my upturned face.

As I trudged up the beach, crabs scuttled away, waving pincers, and I chose not to step on any. Small, guiltless creatures. I plucked a flower from the dunes. Purple, from memory. The night rendered it colorless. An owl hooted, drifted past the moon. Naked, I pulled myself up onto the hood of one of the cars and surveyed the distant horizon where it crashed and burned with white lightning. I swept away the sodden strands of hair where they fell against my cheeks.

The car metal drummed with hard rain.

Killing myself...

Where would be the fun in that?

I could still remember the last drop of my cum splattering her face and how she bucked against my tongue as she came and came, as Vitor screwed her deep.

I twirled the flower between finger and thumb. Such a soft, pretty creation.

Some things were meant to be.

One mistake was all I needed...I couldn’t see the indentations of the key in her head, but one mistake...surely that would do it.

I mustn’t. Must I? I was selling her.

Oh what a messy web we weave.

Chapter 9

He was nowhere near me and I was a limp mess of human on the bed in his room. Since I’d been delivered like some raw delicacy to the men, mostly blind, swept under the surface of reality and aware only by his will, I only remembered some of what had happened.

He’d let me see, a few times. Let me think.

A twenty-something-year-old with bright chestnut hair all in cute curls, being screwed at both ends while tied to the scaffolding. Another on the floor, hogtied and rolled this way and that for their pleasure. He’d let someone else take me while he hovered, mean as death, with his absorption in me showing even when he fucked someone else. I’d been fucked while I stood over that stick, praying it wouldn’t penetrate too far and mutilate my insides. He’d had steel and glitter in his eyes, especially when he’d made me orgasm. I hurt in so many places that merely slipping from bed to floor had me gasping.

I had a purpose though.