Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Then again, she’s messed up. As messed up as I am. Who the hell knows why she let it happen? Who the hell knows why I let it happen?
Except I do know. Something about her cried out to me. I had to have her, and of course it didn’t help that she was begging me.
Damn.
I close my eyes, inhale the steam from the shower, and realize I neglected to set the faucets on cold.
It’s okay though. The steam fogs up the mirror, and I close my eyes.
And then I’m back.
Back in the damned foxhole.
“Quiet!” I whisper harshly to Ghost.
Ghost is just a kid. He’s straight out of seal training, with red hair and freckles and skin so fair we call him Ghost. I’ve tried to take him under my wing, and so has Phoenix.
But Ghost is determined to make it on his own, and I have to hand it to him: he’s more disciplined than I was at his age.
Right now? All I want him to do is shut the fuck up.
He got his elbow shot. The elbow…. Fuck man, elbow pain is harsh. Bone fragments speckle the wound.
Pain. God, the pain he must be enduring. Would I be able to contain my screams in his place?
Doesn’t matter. Insurgents are right above us, and if he doesn’t shut the fuck up, they’ll find us for sure.
I have no choice. I pull out my switchblade and hold it against the pale flesh of his neck.
“You shut up, or I swear to God I’ll slit your fucking throat.”
He gasps in a breath, holds it.
The blade scratches his flesh, and a bubble of blood rises.
Ghost chokes back another scream.
My God, the pain he must be enduring.
I know that kind of pain. I know how hard it is not to scream. I’ve been electrocuted, sliced open, sodomized…
And all those times, I screamed like someone was cutting off a limb. Like a fucking pussy.
Would I have been able to stay quiet if someone had held a blade to my neck?
I don’t know. The degenerates got off on my screams.
Maybe I should’ve held back. If I had, maybe they would’ve tortured me less.
None of that matters now. Because if those insurgents find us in this damned foxhole, we’re both dead.
Ghost is bleeding out. He’s going to die eventually. If I slit his throat, I might be doing him a favor. He’ll simply die quicker, and he won’t have to worry about not screaming anymore.
But I can’t do it. Can’t bring myself to fucking kill the kid.
I like Ghost. He had a lot of potential, but then he had to go get his elbow shot off.
He ran. Adrenaline stayed with him, and he ran with me until I dragged him into this hiding place.
Now here we are. My adrenaline is still high because of my survival instinct. Both our lives could be over in a matter of seconds.
But Ghost? Once he got down here, he succumbed to the pain.
I want to comfort him. Tell him I’ve got him. But I can’t. I can’t show him any warmth, any friendship, any love.
I have to keep him scared. I have to keep him quiet. And for that, I need my damned switchblade at his neck.
Again I argue inside myself. Would I be doing him a favor if I ended it all now? Leave him pain-free?
No… There’s always a chance. Still a fucking chance we can get out of this.
I’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.
Much worse scrapes, where I was being tortured, abused. They shaved my head. They shaved my genitals. They whipped my back and my legs. They fucking raped me with a broom handle.
But I survived. I escaped.
And damn it all to hell, I will escape this time too.
Ghost is a liability. If I end it now, my chances are better alone.
But I can’t.
I can’t kill a friend.
His breath sounds are weak, shallow, but I don’t move the blade. I can’t fucking move the blade.
He gasps. Opens his mouth.
“Buck…”
His last word.
With one last gasp between his blue lips, he leaves his body.
He’s gone.
I keep hold of the switchblade, and I wait. I wait, knowing they may come and drag me out of here any minute.
And for that minute, I don’t care.
I can think only about how I threatened my friend—my brave, young friend.
And he ended up dying anyway.
16
ASPEN
I almost hate to shower. I don’t want to wash the smell of Buck off me.
Even now I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts. All those times on the island, when I couldn’t wait to clean the filth of those men from me.
Even now, it feels all wrong—what I let Buck do to me.
It feels right at the same time. So right that I don’t ever want it to end.
But it will. Buck won’t stay with me forever. Only until I’m safely back in Manhattan at my apartment.