Page 37 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

Once he’s sure that I understand, he takes the knife from my hand as he kisses me softly on the cheek, almost relieving me of a duty, in a way—silently telling me that everything is okay, and that I don’t have to do anything with the information today if I don’t want to.

I meet Turk’s gaze again, seeing the pain and underlying fear.

This isn’t fair. Yes, he’s a drug dealer and does horrible things every day, but he never did anything to me directly.

If anything, he spared me from more agony.

I shouldn’t blame him, stand by and subject him to this.

I know deep down that this is wrong, at least on my part.

I just used him as a test dummy because he’s the only person I have left to blame.

“I'm sorry,” I admit in a soft whisper, feeling my anger starting to rise and get the best of me. I don’t know why I say it, it just comes out, but I remember when he showed me a glimmer of sympathy that day. I guess I figure I could do the same for him.

“Don’t say that,” he says, with pity laced in his voice.

“Because if I were to walk out of here right now, I’d tell my contact to tell King he was right about you two.

” That cold wave of dread, and a hint of betrayal, crashes over me.

He would really run back to Dranan? “It’s no offense kid, it’s just the life.

” He shakes his head lightly in disbelief, like I should automatically understand; as if I’ve lived by the rules of a drug addict my entire life and didn’t free myself from that hell.

He thought of me for all these years? Or ‘used to think’ of me from what he said?

He never thought to call someone, or attempt to guide me away somehow, so that it didn’t leave me completely wrecked.

Granted, a stranger never should’ve had to.

I should’ve been taught how to take care of myself from the two people that made me—should’ve learned so many lessons that didn’t almost end with me losing my life or taking it myself.

“Can I ask you something?” my voice comes out a little more strained than before, but Turk nods his head anyway, even as Damien searches the table for whatever tool he wants to choose to end his life. “You were my parents’ dealer up until they died, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Did they…” I feel my throat tighten as the tears come back. “Did they even notice I was gone? Realize that I never came back after that day?” He narrows his gaze.

“Your dad? He couldn’t give a less fuck about you—said the next time I showed up that he’d see you selling yourself soon enough.

Your mom though, she asked if I’d seen ya around once.

She wondered ‘where that ungrateful bitch went.’ I never heard about you again after that.

Some of the saddest shit I’ve ever heard.

” A tear finally falls and reaches my cheek before it barrels down my face.

There shouldn’t be any surprise with what he said, any shock or doubt that he’s right, but it’s still so hard to hear.

I didn't matter to them; I never did. They probably hated me the moment I was born, but then why keep me? If they didn’t want me at all, why have me?

Were they so high that they didn’t know or weren’t coherent enough to decide?

Why is a part of me still searching for the slightest glimmer of hope that they cared about me?

Why am I still the little girl trying to make my parents proud of me?

I didn’t want much, I never asked for anything or caused trouble—I walked on glass trying to appease them, and did almost anything to get them to love me…

The time for needing their love is over—dead, gone, and buried, never to be resurfaced again.

I want every last reminder of them gone—the pain, the neglect, the years of trauma that I’ve never fully gotten over.

I was doing so well, barely even thinking of them, and then Turk popped up, doing what he’s always done and ruining lives in ways that will leave his victims scarred.

They don’t deserve to be remembered or thought about, and they certainly don’t deserve to take up my mind or my dreams anymore.

Neither does Turk, because even though I haven’t thought about him in a long time, knowing that he’s still living, breathing, and constantly carrying a connection to my disgusting parents enrages me.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so fucking angry that the heat is building in my chest and radiating outward, causing the tears that are running down my face to feel even hotter.

My parents held me back for so long, forced fears into my mind that I never should’ve had, made me feel less than useless, like I wasn’t worth that air I breathed or the dirt and blood I walked on.

I look over to Damien again, seeing the anger and resentment on his face as he attempts to choose a weapon worthy of Turk’s death, but anything he’ll receive tonight is better than he deserves.

There’s nothing in this room that will atone for my past, and I just want him gone, decaying six feet under and taking my memories with him.

Without thinking, I react—settling for the closest thing I can reach and picking up Damien’s pistol, feeling the weight of it in my hand, although it’s not as heavy as the trauma that lingers.

Before Damien can stop me, I point the gun at Turk’s head, right between the eyes as I look into them one last time, seeing the broken shards that are hidden there.

My heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it in my throat, like it’s urging me to go through with it—to take my revenge, and then it’ll all be better.

I can finally be the partner Damien needs me to be, emerge a new woman and face the world head on while I leave my demons in their graves.

I take a shaky breath and allow one last tear to fall before I pull the trigger, feeling my body jerk from the kickback and sensing the relief instantly crash down on me as the shot echoes across the room.

Damien’s stare finds me, and I don’t even have to turn around to sense the shock on his face.

I can sense the underlying pride as well, and the moment I feel him behind me, I drop the gun to the floor.