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Chapter Seventeen

Byron

“Mmm that’s it.” the sound of Kevin’s voice followed by the sharp sound of skin slapping and in sync with the soft moans of my sister. It’s my own personal melody, one I’ve grown to loath. I swear he has the sound on replay just to torture me, the hunger didn’t bother me… but knowing I can’t protect her, that hurts. That’s the true torture.

“Who’s your daddy?” and with that I almost lose my complete fucking shit. “REN!” I shout but it’s no use. Ren isn’t coming for my punishment. I don’t know how long it’s been since I saw Ren, I just been here dying slowly. The days have passed by slowly... blending together with hunger. I don’t even know how long it’s been since I ran, and I took him under the stars thinking I had won. The door only opens when I’m asleep, so I know he’s been looking. Aware of my current state.

Watching how slowly he’s killing me with the sounds of my sister’s voice filling the underground space. It’s hell.

Crushing my hands to my ears, I smack them over and over.

“Make it stop!” I yell. “REN!”

But there’s no stopping this, the hell Ren created... There’s no stopping my torture, but I need to endure for her. But fuck, I’m struggling.

I’m starving.

Weak and cold.

The sounds of Gabriela fill the room, the moans over and over. I’ve listened to Kevin play my sister like a fiddle. The wolf is inside our home and my sister doesn’t even know, she doesn’t know the danger she is in.. I need to win. I can’t let him break me down... no matter how much he’s tried... No matter how far I sink into the darkness, I have to save her, even if, in the end, it means destroying myself.

“REN!” I scream again weakly, my voice hoarse from yelling into the void. Even my nail beds are torn from digging into the soil trying to find the camera or the speaker.

To make it stop.

I couldn’t listen to my sister being devoured while I let him tear me down. What if I break and there’s nothing left to save us both. I’m aware and Gabby isn’t. There is no choice but to break. I look at the plates piling up in the corner. Flies buzz around them and I can see the maggots moving in the dark on the rotting meat. Ren continually tries to feed me. The smell of the rot and human waste is overbearing. I hiccup, staring into the void, trying to bite back the humiliation, the acknowledgment that it’s working....

My dad’s voice whispers over and over. “Maricón, weak...” as the sting from his belt ghosts my back. “I didn’t raise a bitch.” Another lash. “I raised a man.” More lashes come, harder and harder. I bring my legs towards my chest and curl into the fetal position.

Theresita’s cold hands cup my cheek, and I look at her face, caved inward, the bat Ren used engraved in her head over and over. Teeth are missing, but her eyes remain the same.

Glassy. Teary. And dead.

She doesn’t say anything, her mere presence is my haunt.

“Ren,” I whisper into the ground, calling out to the God who has shunned me—a cruel God who won’t hear my prayers.

But this time is different, the earth opens and light sprinkles in the dark. My eyes burn trying to adjust to the brightness in the room. Using my elbow, I weakly prop my body up, trying to moisten my lips with my non-existent saliva as I watch my savior covered in sunlight. Dressed in all black, the prince of Hell has come to bring me salvation. “Ren.”

“Do you understand now?” he asks as he walks towards me, unaffected by the filth, by the smell. It’s as if he welcomed the rot, the destruction, and I wanted to kill him for it. Wrap my hands around his pretty neck and push my cock deep in his throat, watch me fuck the life out of him. If he wants me to create, he will become my final creation. If he was going to destroy me, it was only fitting I return the favor, but he holds my emotions like a leash. A puppet orchestrated by his movements because he holds my heart in his hand, and he’s more than capable of crushing it. Devouring it.

He bends in front of me, his onyx eyes inspect me like I’m some form of specimen, lifting my eyes, I meet his. There’s nothing. No emotion. No connection.

“Do you understand?”

I dip my chin slowly, before I respond weakly. “Yes.”

“Good, I have just the lesson for you.” He smacks my cheek weakly. “Or test, it all depends how you look at it. But first, a shower and food.”

Food .

I know I shouldn’t. I know what I’ll be eating, but I also know what I need to do... what is needed of me.

Shower.

Food.

I repeat it in my head like a mantra, and again I dip my chin, watching as a devilish grin spreads across his gorgeous features. “Good, I was hoping we could come to an agreement.” Ren pats my head like I’m a dog before he stands, cocking his head towards the light. He offers me his hand, and I could break down. I can let myself die here, end it all, because the light in my case doesn’t mean salvation—it’s damnation. My soul... myself, offered up on a silver platter. His muse.

My hand trembles as it moves towards his, a fitting moment of the Creation of Adam, but it was the fall of Byron. Our hands connect, his delicate long fingers intertwining with mine before he squeezes my hand, grounding me to him, to this moment. I couldn’t disconnect, no matter how much I wanted to. I follow his lead out of this hell and into the light... into the devil’s lair. The cabin is warm with the smell of herbs filling the air, and my hunger pangs intensify. My mouth salivates. I cast a look at the set table, the plates placed for us, and the steam that comes from the area .

“Shower first,” Ren chimes from in front of me, as if sensing I’m like a dog waiting for its meal. Days that I’ve gone without food or water... and yet the need to protect my sister is what moves me. The one feeling that’s become unyielding... it’s not a need. It’s a will that was imprinted on me the day I held her in my arms. I made a promise that I will always protect her, and it’s one I intend to keep.

He guides me towards the bathroom, but my eyes lock in on the door that holds his studio, and I think back to that woman. Making my stomach churn at the thought that I ate... ate... no food.

No.

No.

Eat. NO.

“Byron,” a soft, deep voice calls to me as soft hands cradle my face. My devil comes into view, his short eyebrows knit together—a master of faces. “Why resist the unavoidable?” he whispers, leaning into me, pressing our noses together.

“Cannibalism was a form of love in ancient times.”

Rubbing his nose against mine as his hands press harder against my cheeks.

“To consume means to love. It’s immortalizing that,” he breathes.

“It’s creation, one I wouldn’t have found if it weren’t for you... my muse. If you wouldn’t have destroyed my foundations.”

Ren pulls back.

“Don’t fight it. It’s pointless. Just let me consume you,” he says, before turning away and walking towards the shower, and turning it on. Rolling up his sleeve, “Come, you’re filthy,” he says, but there’s no disdain or disgust in his tone. It’s actually the opposite—it’s caring and soft. Begrudgingly, I move slowly towards him. Stepping into the shower, I turn my back to him and soak under the hot water that stings my skin. We don’t speak, but I know he’s still there, watching.

“Love,” Ren says behind me, and I still.

“That’s why.”

Love and Ren aren’t words that go together, and to say the least, I’m stunned .

“I became intrigued with the love you have for your sister, breaking you and destroying it.”

I grit my teeth, my hands rest on the tile anchoring me, preventing me from passing out from the steam as I listen to his twisted words.

“You hate me because I love my sister?” I ask, confused.

“No. You intrigue me. I cut down my sickness—love. It made me weak, a servant to someone else’s will, and I ripped it off.”

His hand wraps around the back of my neck, turning me to face him. We both stare at one another.

“Why won’t you rip out yours? Gut it. End it all?” he asks, and there’s emotion in those voids; it may just be confusion, but there’s at least something. And I wonder how much pain his mother had inflicted on him to create such a void.

“You can’t rip out love, Ren,” I say, before weakly pulling away and grabbing the bottle of body wash. Squeezing it onto the washcloth left there, his scent fills the air—cedar, linen, and bourbon. Even his fucking body wash smells rich and arrogant. I couldn’t escape him, not even to breathe.

“I’ll prove you can,” Ren whispers behind me, before I hear his footsteps, then the sound of the door opening and closing. I let out a shaky breath, pressing the washcloth into the white tile. I lean my forehead on it, pressing hard as I look down at my erection.

I’m grateful that he spared me from further humiliation, but angry at my traitorous body that craves his pain and torture. After a few minutes, I’m able to catch my breath, regulate the rhythm of my heart, and calm my thoughts. But no matter how much I scrub my body, I still feel filthy... rotten... ruined.

Turning off the water, afraid I’ll pass out in the shower, I grab the white towel left for me and dry my body. Shuffling toward the bathroom door, I’m surprised to find the knob turns freely. It’s not locked.

I step into the hall and hear humming—like a siren’s call. I follow the sound, leading me to a door. The door to his studio .

My hand trembles as I reach for the handle. My chest tightens. The world goes quiet except for the rush of blood in my ears. Then the sound of Radiohead’s “Man of War” fills the air while Ren hums it.

I remain frozen in front of the door. Slowly, I turn the knob and open it. Ren doesn’t flinch. He sits naked on the floor on top of a clear plastic tarp that covers the wooden floorboards, and he’s covered in crimson.

How long was I in the shower? It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Bile rushes up my throat as I take in the sight leaving me speechless.

“You inspired me, and you’re too weak to carve,” he says, as he continues to slice off tiny pieces of flesh making what seems like a macabre ying yang symbol. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not right to stare.” Finally he looks away from his carving. “Talk.”

But what can I say. How do I rationalize what I’m looking at? My brain takes a moment to catch up, but when it does, it hits me like a bulldozer. Knocks the breath out of me as my eyes clash with blue, puffy, familiar ones.

Johnathan.

He lies on the ground—bloody, carved, trapped within his own body, and pieces of him are missing. I look at Ren, who continues to carve, resting his chin over his hand, lazily dragging the scalpel across Johnathan’s side.

“How long?” I ask.

“Long enough,” he answers nonchalantly, not bothering to look my way. I’m not a threat to him.

My focus goes back to Johnathan. Tears stream down the side of his face. His eyes pleading. Begging.

I don’t think. I move on autopilot.

I walk toward the cart that stores Ren’s supplies and pick up another scalpel. Ren stops, looking at me through his lashes as I walk toward Johnathan. I give him a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth, holding back tears and cementing my decision. Pressing the scalpel under his jaw, I slice, making sure I go deep enough to kill him.

My eyes remain on Jonathan’s, not caring what happens to me for destroying Ren’s creation.

“Don’t move,” Ren whispers .

I hear the tarp shuffle, and from the corner of my eye, I watch him pull out a sketchbook and lean against the wall.

“This is fucking perfect, Thorn. Perfect.”

My hands beg to release the knife at Jonathan’s throat. I silently beg to not watch him choke on his blood. Instead I remain staring at his eyes desperately begging for help that will never come.

I watch as the man who tried to help me heal is destroyed, and I was the one who held the blade that turned off his light. Those vibrant blues dull— as he gargles on wet breath in. The pressure of my hand cuts deeper without me realizing. My vision blurs and I try to blink away the tears be anywhere but here.

“Don’t move. Just let me get the basics,” Ren says, before resuming his sketch. “So many emotions. You are truly magical.”

“Fuck you,” I seethe, pulling away from Johnathan, who is long dead, and chucking the bloody scalpel into the wall.

Ren watches me as I lose my shit.

“FUCK YOU!” I scream, picking up anything I can and smashing it against the wall.

My knees buckle. The hunger... the pain... the guilt drowns me.

And I see stars. Followed by Ren. Then the room spins—and it’s all black.

The void consumes me.