Page 67 of Dirty Roxie

Mother working herself to the bone.

My need for pain with pleasure.

Wanting Roxie, knowing I can’t have her.

Something breaks in my right hand, shooting pain up my whole arm. Still, I can’t stop. Andrei’s flesh no longer resisting upon impact. Like the water behind the dam has made its way through, disintegrating the concrete wall in its wake. I’m unable to prevent the tidal wave of emotion coursing through me.

Grief. Frustration. Helplessness.

I grab the wooden club and continue my assault, focusing on his head until there is nothing left but battered bone and a mesh of cartilage.

No matter how many times I go at him, I don’t feel vindicated.

Righteous.

Whole.

I thought righting this wrong would make it better. But I still feel just as destroyed as I did when this all started.

An animalistic howl resonates through the room. It takes a moment for me to realize I’m the one who made it. Falling to my knees, I look down at my hands, my fingers mangled and bloodied. The skin falling from my knuckles in shreds. I’m still dirty. This did nothing to cleanse me. And if this didn’t, nothing will.

Only then do I let the tears come.