Page 31

The front storm door bangs closed behind me as I tear out of the house like my ass is on fire. I’m leaving poor Lily on the kitchen counter to fend for herself, and to take care of her head wound. I can’t be in there, not with my mother yelling at me in my head to run.

“Run H. Hedeon run!” She cries out, forcing me further and further from the house. I’m in just a pair of sweatpants with sneakers, and the air is cool since sundown, but I don’t care. I have to get away.

The grass is wet with dew under my feet, and my sneakers slip and slide as I bolt through the yard to the only thing that can save me. My bike. Still laying on her side in the marble courtyard, she calls me to her.

Ride, Hedeon. Ride as fast and as far as you can. Let me scream for you.

I can hear her, she’s my salvation, my way to clear my head, to escape, and I need to get to her.

I run past the reptilian guardians at the entrance, their little black eyes watching me in the dark, their gold tongues licking out at me as I dart between them. The bushes scrape me and the tree roots that poke though the ground grab at my feet like hands from the underground, trying to stop me. I run though, as fast as I can, trying uselessly to escape the visions that follow behind me.

Useless, always useless. Just like when you were a kid. A spoiled rotten kid.

She’s right where I left her, almost hard to see in the dark, with her black paint blending in with the night. But even if she were invisible I would still find her. She’s the only woman in my life that will never leave me, never die, never disappear in a puddle of blood. I can always buy more parts for her, repair her, make her new again, unlike the females in my life that breathe air and eat food. The gas guzzler on the ground will only ever be there for me, feasting on petrol and my unlimited supply of money, all of which I would put into her without complaint if needed.

“Up and at ‘em.” I say as I turn my back to her, grab her and use my legs to lift her up, putting her on her kickstand.

It’s stupid to ride with no gear, and barely any clothes, but I don’t give a flying fuck as I swing my leg over her and turn the key that still dangles in place. The bike fires up with a push of the ignition switch, the cold start taking three cranks before she catches and roars to life.

The immediate feeling of her vibrating between my thighs is already calming, almost grounding me as I kick up the stand, tap my foot to bring her into gear, then take off through the courtyard.

The dogs, minus Magnolia, chase behind me barking and baying, a pack of beasts just like their master, riding through the yard towards the driveway without a care if the bike goes down again in the wet grass. I’ll just pick her up again, brush off my wounds and continue on. The pain will do me some good anyways.

Pain, that’s what I need. Physical pain is the best way to alleviate the mental anguish sometimes. Like getting a tattoo can be therapy for a fucked-up mindset, riding hard, and even going down can be just as euphoric. The feeling of the road rash and broken bones can center you, show you what life feels like in the real world, and not just the sick shit in your head.

The tires skid on the slick green carpet, the bike pulling left than right, following a wheel that can’t grip on the dampness with as fast as I’m pushing it. Not until I hit the hardened dirt of the driveway does it catch and lurch me forward, picking up speed. The seat jostles and bumps under my ass as I take it over the petrified ruts that haven’t been reshaped in weeks. There have been no bodies transported in the truck to mold them differently since I brought Lily home with me against her will.

That’s what you need, just like the dogs. You need a kill. Bring something home, take it to the cellar, and do what you always do when life becomes full of too much shit. There’s plenty of whores and criminals to pick from. Do it. Do it. Do it!

“No!” I scream into the air that whips across me like a slap to the face.

Yes. Bring home a gift for Lily. She’s as fucked up as you, you know. That’s why she’s still here, why she didn’t run when given the chance. You knew it the first time you heard her cries of ecstasy in the club. You knew she was just like you.

“Fuck you!”

I crank the throttle and kick the shifter up with my foot, going faster towards the gate that leads to the world outside my compound. The wind rips at my skin, metaphorically peeling the flesh from my body, cutting me into pieces as the metal barrier slides open and I rocket out onto the street, not bothering to look for oncoming traffic.

Horns blare and tires squeal on the asphalt, but the impact doesn’t come. There is no crash, no pain, just an annoying screeching of the cars avoiding me as I turn right and speed away, leaving them behind me. It’s almost depressing that I’m still up on two wheels. The crash and burn would have been nice.

I race down the road, the sound of the world flying by so loud in my ears, but still it doesn’t drown out the cackling laughter of my father, the screams of my mother, and the bellowing of the monster inside of me. It’s a battle in my head that’s leaking down into my heart. The heart in my chest that I thought was a hard rock, frozen in time from that day when I was nine.

It beats so slowly, even with the adrenaline from the ride, squeezing around my throat as feelings I don’t want to feel climb up my throat, suffocating me with a death grip. I’m choking on my own shortcomings, the ones father used to punish me for. I’m losing my breath to not just the wind, but to fear, hate, pain, and regret laced with conditioned need. It’s a kaleidoscope of shit swirling in me, getting louder and more insane as I shift up again, but instead of colors and patterns I can see, it’s voices, and whisperings I can hear in my skull.

Father: Useless, like you always were. You can’t even fuck her without messing it up. She should be in pieces on that counter, just like your mother.

Mother: My good boy. Don’t do anything you shouldn’t. It’s not you, it’s him. Don’t listen. Just ride.

My monster: Hahahaha! Only listen to me. Kill. Kill some more. Wipe out everything and everyone except me and you. You need me. I’m here to remind you who you are Hedeon, the destroyer.

“All of you shut the fuck up!” I yell out, my words disappearing in the wind as I careen towards the Appalachian Mountains in the distance.

I won’t make it to them, town is in the way, and as I try to direct the bike back to the uncivilized roads, it takes me on its own, with a memory of all my travels to more populated streets, down the main drag, and into the parking lot of Le Chateaux.

Father: Go in and pick one. Take her home. Fuck her and slit her throat.

Mother: No baby, no.

The silence when I shut off the bike and swing my leg off her is deafening. But not in the way when you’re in the quiet and all you hear is the tinnitus of nothing. Its deafening with the voices that still argue inside of me.

I’m twitching, cold from the ride in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants, but also from the battle inside me. I crave to do as my father tells me to do. I know how easy it is to become him, and the man that he made me before I fell for my flower. But she’s not a flower. I met her here, bent over a sawhorse, getting abused by a man she gave herself to willingly. I stole her from him in a moment of weakness that father would have beaten me for, and in doing so I awoke the voice of my mother who cries at what I’ve become.

The back door to the club bangs on the wall behind it when I kick it in. I’m lost in my head, my legs taking me to where they want to go, following the cackles of my monster and the sneering my father who team up against me. They want fresh blood, a kill, another body to throw into the pit after the dogs have their fill. It’s my normal, what I’m used to, what I am deep inside, even though now I don’t want to do it. I will though if it quiets them down, appeases them until I can figure out what to do with how I feel.

“H?” Samantha’s voice calls out to me as I storm past the open entrance to her office.

I walk backwards the few steps and look in at her as she sits behind her desk, the hook where my mask used to hang above her not empty but graced with the helmet I left on her couch the night I took my Lily from here. It hangs like a beacon, calling to me to throw it on, concealing who I am, but it would only cover my face and the dark brown eyes in my head that mirror my father’s. My tattoos, an obvious giveaway to anyone here are on full view. They’re going to know who I am, who’s coming for them, and in a way, that’s what I desire.

I want to smell the fear on them, watch their eyes grow large in apprehension when I enter the main part of the establishment. I want them to fucking bow down to me and offer themselves up as my next sacrifice.

“You look like shit.” She spits at me, standing up behind her desk, grabbing for my arm as I pull down the helmet, digging her long black nails into my flesh.

“So do you.” I hiss at her, even though it’s a lie. She’s gorgeous and always will be, even in death.

She would make a stunning addition to the collection in my pit, but I need her. She’s my supplier. She doesn’t deal me drugs, no, she deals me the lambs that I slaughter. I need her alive, just like I need Kendra at work even though the feel of my blades slicing her skin would be so fucking orgasmic.

“Fuck you.”

“Been there, done that.” I say, grabbing her by the chin and pulling her face to mine and licking up her cheek like a fucking animal. “You still taste like sin. Maybe one day I’ll fuck you again.”

“You’re out of your goddamned mind.” She snarls at me, yanking herself from my grasp.

“If you only knew.” I cackle like a madman, tossing her back into her chair where she lands with a grunted “oomph”.

“Don’t ruin my club, asshole.” She calls out to me, as I slide on my helmet and snap the visor shut, leaving her to do her work as she curses over knowing that her membership number is about to go down by one.