Page 79 of Let the Game Begin

“Stop it,” I warned her sharply. She needed to shut her mouth, to just keep quiet.

“Call Dr. Lively, please. Do it for Chloe and for yourself.” She grabbed my wrist. “Do it,” she added in a whisper.

I barely heard her; her words from before just kept running through my head like a mantra:“You still need help.”

A strange, tortured feeling climbed up my throat, making it tighten painfully. I could smell something on me, a smell that didn’t belong to me. My skin began tingling, sending signals for help to my brain. It was an uncontrollable feeling. I had the powerful urge to wash myself, to feel the scaldingwater sluicing over me. I began to breathe heavily, like I’d been running laps. My head was spinning as I dashed up the stairs.

I threw off my leather jacket and barreled through the door to my room. I kicked off my shoes and undid the button on my jeans. My hands were shaking the whole time, like an addict going through withdrawals. I had already taken several showers that day, but I needed another one, right that instant. I pulled off my sweater and threw it on the floor before hurrying into the bathroom.

Horrifying images began flashing before my eyes, sending my soul tumbling back down into the abyss. My stomach lurched, and I hit my knees in front of the toilet.

Why me?

The muscles of my abdomen contracted involuntarily and out poured all the hatred, rage, and frustration that surrounded me like an enormous dark veil whenever I remembered that evil year. The one that was now a part of me and always would be.

I wiped my lips with the back of my hand before curling them in disgust. Then I flushed and got to my feet with difficultly. It was hard to breathe. I could feel my esophagus burning and taste the stomach acid on my tongue. I blinked several times, trying to clear my head.

I bent over the sink and brushed my teeth, scrubbing hard until I saw blood oozing from my gums. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was pale; my eyes were glassy and my lips were dry, making it obvious how unsettled I was. My flexed biceps supported my weight as my chest heaved rapidly up and down.

“Fuck this,” I whispered. “Fuck this! Fuck this!” My voice got louder and louder. I was so angry, and I hated myself so much. My body, my eyes, every fucking thing about the way I looked. I hated my mood swings, my weak moments, the times when the Boy emerged just to remind me how angry he still was.

I stripped off my jeans and boxers and tossed them furiously away from me. Then I climbed into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. I scalded myself, punishing myself for everything that I had done, for everything that I hadn’t avoided, for what I was, for what I had become, and for what I would always be.

Why me?

“Why me? Huh? Why?” I lifted up my face, squinting into the water hitting me, and I addressed a God who probably had as much against me as I now had against him. I could feel the fury crescendoing inside me, quickly outpacing my reason before snuffing it out entirely. So I tried to vent the only way I knew how: I started throwing violent punches against the tile. One after the other. I didn’t care about the pain. I didn’t care about getting injured. I didn’t care about anything. I could have died in there, and honestly, that might have been the best possible outcome.

“Neil! What are you doing?” Logan threw open the glass door of the shower and grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me out. I collapsed to my knees, staring at my reddened, swollen knuckles and then…then I just started laughing.

Fuck, I was really busting a gut. I must have looked like an actual lunatic.

Or maybe I justwasa lunatic.

Logan grabbed a bath towel and draped it over my shoulders to cover me. Then he looked at me, terrified and, bit by bit, my laughter died.

“Sorry, it’s all his fault…” The Boy’s fault, that fucked-up kid. It was always his fault. My body began trembling, rocked by a wave of painful convulsions that I could do nothing to stop. My head was throbbing, and my muscles ached from being held in tension for way too long. My hands felt like they were on fire. I tried to move them, to close them into fists, but it hurt too badly and I grimaced in pain.

I was used to being hurt, though. It was hardly the first time it had happened.

My brother sighed and helped me to my feet. “I’m going to go get you some ice,” he said, hurrying out of the bathroom as I trudged slowly across my room. I sat down on the bed and looked down at myself. I was completely naked with nothing but a towel around my shoulders like a cape. The outlines of my muscles and veins showed clearly just how much my body had changed since I was little.

I had grown up but the Boy still lived inside me, more pissed off than ever.

With a heavy sigh, I got up and grabbed a clean pair of boxers from thedrawer. I pulled them on and tossed the damp towel on the floor. My skin was still dripping and so was my hair, but I had no intention nor inclination to dry it.

“Logan…is everything okay in there?”

Selene’s soft, feminine voice echoed down the hallway from behind the half-open door of my room.

I stared straight ahead at nothing in particular and focused completely on her words. It was ridiculous how my entire body warmed to the sound of her voice, and it was unbelievable how the excitement rushed down between my legs, even in a shitty moment like that.

What would Selene have thought of me if she had known what I really was? A shitshow, a psychopath, everyone’s fucking problem. I smiled sardonically at myself and my warped personality.

“Don’t worry; everything’s fine.” Logan’s tone was reassuring, but I knew how worried he really was. He was always worried when I lost my head. Moments later, he came into the room with a bag of ice in his hand. He shut the door behind him with a small kick.

“Sit down.” He pointed to the bed, but I just kept standing there, staring him down.

“Don’t order me around,” I told him sharply. I hated it whenever someone tried to tell me what to do. My brother looked at me, and I held his gaze, making sure he knew not to fight with me about it.