Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The next day when I talked to Leon, I asked for some kitchen duty to make some money. Technically, anyone under sixteen isn’t supposed to work, but some of them do. I told Leon how I was very interested in the food service industry, and I wanted to gain some experience so I could find work once I got out of this place. I didn’t want to end up as one of the statistics on the street.
I used my words very carefully.
And Leon?
He fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.
In a few weeks, Tully will be kicked out. Every time I see him, he looks a little more fearful. A little weaker.
Perfect.
Tonight, after my shift, I grab one of the sharp knives and shove it under my shirt.
No one even noticed. The kitchen staff doesn’t pay much attention to us, other than to yell at us to work faster.
If anyone saw me, they didn’t say anything.
The steel is cool against my skin.
It’s a powerful feeling. Knowledge that I’ll get Tully back.
I planned it all carefully. Tully’s exit interview is tonight. I get up from one of the desks where I’m doing homework.
“Where are you off to?” Zach asks me.
“I don’t feel too well.” I fake a nauseated face. “I’m going to go see the nurse.”
“Oh. Okay. Hope you feel better.”
I rub my belly, letting the steel of the knife prick me just a bit. “Yeah. Me too.”
I walk down the hallway, stopping by an empty bedroom and grabbing a pillow on the way. Finally I make it to the room where Tully is with his exit counselor.
And I wait.
Five minutes go by.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Until the door opens.
Tully walks out and turns toward his room—all the way at the end of the hallway.
And that’s where I wait for him, hiding in the shadows.
When he gets to the room, I step out.
He glares at me. “What are you looking at, shithead?”
And I say the words I’ve rehearsed so many times before.
“I’m looking at a pathetic dead man.”
I grab the knife and plunge it into his stomach.
He lets out a gargling, choking cry, and tumbles to the floor. “Fuck you, you little cunt!”
He tries to get to his feet, but I have the upper hand here. I grab the knife and stab him again. Then three times. Four. Five.
I lose count.
His blood is everywhere, soaked through his T-shirt. Puddles of crimson seep into the carpet.
But he’s still fucking alive.
I anticipated this.
I grab the pillow and force it over his face. His muffled shrieks still ring through the cushion, but no one seems to hear him.
No one heard me the night he raped me. Guess people have learned to tone out the screams.
Or they just ignore them.
He keeps kicking, but he’s starting to slow down. I hold the pillow over his head strong, not wavering once.
I shouldn’t be able to keep this pillow against his head so forcefully, but something inside me has stirred some extra strength to the surface.
Finally, after several minutes, he stops kicking. I hear a small shudder from under the pillow. I remove it from his face and meet the cold, impassive stare of a corpse.
He’s dead.
And I’m the one who killed him.
And I feel…
Elated.
Fucking elated.
And I know, in that moment, that I’m evil.
It’s not this place. It’s not my parents.
It’s me.
I am sin.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Diana
My blood runs cold.
“You going to say something?” Dragon says.
I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine that Dragon—especially as a young boy of thirteen—is capable of taking a life.
What did that kid do to him?
For already I know this was revenge.
Do I ask? Or do I let it lie?
I gulp. “What happened next?”
“I got caught, of course. I couldn’t run. I had nowhere to go. I knew it was a one-way street when I chose to take that walk. I knew what the consequences would be, and I accepted them.”
“And Tully…”
“Dead. Fucking dead at my hand.”
Dragon’s tone lacks remorse. To the contrary, it’s full of rage, as if he’s reliving the thing inside his mind.
But I know this man. He wouldn’t have attacked—tried to kill—someone without a good reason. He’s not a sociopath.
“What did you tell the staff?” I ask.
“I told them Tully attacked me with the knife. That he’d had it out for me since day one, and somehow I got the knife away from him.”
“And you just happened to have a pillow with you?”
“I told them I’d been reading in the lounge with a pillow from my room.”
I gulp. “Dragon…”
“I’m not sorry, Diana. I killed him, and I’m not sorry.”
“So you told them it was self-defense.”
“Yup. And I didn’t expect them to believe me, but they did.”
“Did they call the police?”
“Yeah. They had to. But I was a good kid who studied hard and got good grades. They believed my story. Tully was a troublemaker who didn’t have any family.”