Page 66 of The Lies We Steal

The night in the pool, she’d done everything I’d wanted her to. A puppet on my wire. Showing her that she was nothing but a toy I could control. It wasn’t my intention to have her ride my thigh, but it was my plan to watch her find out who exactly was in charge of this situation.

I knew she wouldn’t back down. Not even if she was pissing her pants afraid. There is something in Briar Lowell that refuses to allow her to turn away from what frightens her.

And I want nothing more than to crush it with my bare fucking hands.

My thoughts were tangled, I was a frenzy of infuriation. I charged harshly at Rook, in my hysteria. Steamrolling him onto the mat and hearing him land with a hard smack to the ground.

I was sizzling beneath my skin, my core temperature skyrocketing. I was positive my skin would begin to melt soon.

I wanted to destroy her. I wanted to consume all of it.

I’d taken the power back after her little cockroach charade, but she would soon find something else to hit me back with. I wanted her so broken and lost, she had no choice but to submit and beg me to end her suffering.

On her knees all breathy and fragile.

Rook gargled for air under me, my technique sloppy as I rotate my body around his own, pulling him into a choke hold. My legs laced around his waist, my right arm circled his throat, while my left worked as a pry bar to tighten my grip on his windpipe.

Demons, the hellions that I concealed inside me crawled out, scratching my insides to shreds in the process. I could barely see, my vision blurry and brimming red.

There were barely shapes, only spots of light. The taste of my own blood on my tongue made me wring his neck harder. The more I hurt him, the closer I got to catching her.

The closer I got to corrupting her completely. Until there was nothing left of who she was. When she looked in the mirror, she wouldn’t even know herself. And maybe, she would think twice about covering for her uncle and his shady business.

Maybe then she would regret being a part of Rose’s death. Being a part of the destruction of one of my best friends.

“Ali…Alistair, I tap! Du-dude, I…I t…tap!” Rook gurgles through my grip, snapping me back to real life.

Reminding me that I’m ten seconds from killing him. I hadn’t even felt his hand repeatedly smacking my forearm, until right now.

I let him go immediately, allowing him to sit up and crawl towards the benches on the other side of the room. His longish hair covered in sweat and swaying in front of his eyes.

I fall back into the wall behind me, staying seated on my ass. Dropping my face to look at the ground below me, holding my head between my hands. I’ve got to get a grip on my shit.

She is taking up too much space in my brain.

Taking up all the space in my brain.

“You alright?” I ask him as he gulps down a gallon of water in less than fifteen seconds.

“Never better.” He says with a tired grin, the swelling and redness on his neck clear as day.

We sit in silence, catching our breath, gathering ourselves. Letting the euphoria of the moment settle down and the adrenaline to wear out.

It reminds me of the first time he asked me to punch him. When we were fourteen and in his backyard. His eye was already purple from the night before with his father, we were taking turns shooting his BB gun at birds that flew across the sky.

He’d turned to me with this, this look in his eyes. Like he needed me. Like he needed my help.

And I remember thinking how good that felt, to be needed. To be wanted as a friend and sought after for help, even if the help was something psychotic. In true Rook fashion, he made a joke of it at first, he wanted to see how hard I could really hit.

But when I wasn’t giving it my all, that’s when I saw a side of him anyone rarely saw. Including me and the rest of the boys. The part of him that’s still a broken kid.

“I need the pain, Alistair. I need it so I don’t forget what I did.”

It was all I or anyone else had gotten from him.

We never talked about it again after that. I just showed up when he called and went to work like he was my personal moving body bag.

“When are your parents coming home?” He asks, fingering his hair back out of his face.