Slingshot digs into a bag next to him and unwraps the foil around his food. It’s a breakfast burrito. I’ve come to learn he eats when he’s nervous.
And he’s constantly nervous.
Usually what I do when I’m nervous is cut tongues, but things haven’t exactly been a revolving door of people who deserve to die, so I need to do something with my time. It’s better than being here, in that damn Church room, or even near it, reminding me that I was buried alive. I only lived because Sarah heard me punching through the floor.
And then there was another attack on the compound. Doc was a busy guy that day. A lot of people were injured, and we lost two cut-sluts. I don’t give a fuck about the club whores, but some do, and I guess it’s sad. If you can find it in yourself to care.
Because of all the action lately, Reaper has been running a tight ship. Walls are going up around the property line since people keep getting in and fucking with what’s ours. We haven’t had time to rebuild Skirt’s house after it burned down in the attack that Joanna’s ex-whatever he was hired college kids to take us out.
I know people expect me to be afraid of the dark now, but it isn’t the case. I’m not afraid. Someone got the upper hand on me and somehow buried me. Every time I enter Church, I get angry, and I’m barely able to contain myself from blowing the fuck up and cutting out the person’s tongue who is sitting next to me when I’m triggered.
It’s usually Slingshot, and considering how much he loves tacos, I don’t think he’d appreciate that very much.
“Now, since everyone is here, we have cleanup to do from the attack that we still haven’t gotten around to—” Reaper pinches the bridge of his nose, and I slam the front door shut, hoping what he said to me is forgotten. I don’t care what I have to do to see her. I’ll do it. “Things have been hectic. Between the attack, Doc’s mom’s funeral, and what happened on Halloween, there hasn’t been a lot of time to think about anything else, but now is the time. We need to regroup. We need to prepare. We need plans in place. The Groundskeeper has not revealed himself; he’s been silent. I don’t know if he’s still in the area, but if he is, I doubt he’s going to leave us alone. I don’t want anyone leaving the compound unless it is for work purposes. I don’t give a fuck how inconvenient it is. If you disobey an order, I’ll carve my signature heart in your chest. Don’t fucking test me on this. We have women and children here. We have kids here that we still have no idea what to do with. No one has come forward about them. We need to focus.” Reaper gives me the evil eye, and I scoff, then make my way to my damn room.
I don’t need this shit.
Are you fucking kidding me? I always stay in line. I do what’s needed. I’m the one who inflicts the twisted, sick pain our enemies need to feel, and I’m the bad guy right now?
I guess that’s the thing with guys like me.
I’m always the bad guy; I’m never the knight.
I’m always focused. I’m always here. Half the time, they don’t even notice me. They forget about me in the corner, saying I lurk, but they don’t go out of their way to get to know me, do they? They don’t know why I’m the way I am. They don’t question it because what I am is good enough for them, but it isn’t good enough for me, not anymore.
I have a dangerous void inside me, and it’s growing by the day. I’m afraid I’ll lose myself to it and get lost in a darkness that I can’t find my way out of.
Now that scares me.
I’ve always known when to pull back, to stop my mind from getting too far gone.
Maybe that’s my problem.
I need to realize that I’m already too far gone, and there is no hope for me. I’m a killer. I am death. I’m who Reaper calls to entice fear and pain. I cut.
And I’m the guy who gets the job done when no one else can stomach it.
Reaper is right. I have no business going after a woman like Daphne, but a mess like me needs a mental break too. Even with all the crazy going on in my dumb head, I still need peace.
“Where are you going?” Reaper barks at me, but I keep my back to him, anger rushing through my veins.
I’ve never felt more like a child than I do right now. I stop in the middle of the hallway, and the heaviness in my tongue tells me if I speak, nothing I say will come out right. They treat me like I’m incompetent, and it’s starting to grind my damn patience.
There’s a difference between being uneducated and incompetent. I’m perfectly capable of understanding conversations and what is being said to me. Just because I don’t know how to read or write doesn’t mean I’m fucking stupid.
“I’m not fucking stupid!” I roar, almost throwing the bottle of wine across the room at Reaper. “I’ve done everything that has ever been asked of me. I’m allowed to have some goddamn privacy. Stop acting like I’m … I’m incapable of being able to do things that don’t involve you or the club. Stop treating me like … like….” I feel my stutter coming back, and in the back of my mind, I can hear my uncle’s voice.
You goddamn idiot. You can’t listen, can you? Like talking to a wall. You’ll always be stupid.
“Woah, Tongue, no. That isn’t what it’s about,” Reaper tries to argue with me, and his expression is bunched up as if I’ve slapped him in the face.
Maizey walks out of the hallway and rubs her sleepy eyes and gives me a wave. “Hi, Tongue. How are you?” she asks.
She’s the only one to ever ask how I’m doing, and this time, I’m going to be honest. I stare at Reaper for a long moment before I look at her again. “I-I’m … I’m not do-doing too go-good.” Fuck, there I go again, sounding stupid. It isn’t good; it is well. I’m not doing well. Sarah taught me that.
I need to get out of here. I can’t breathe.
“Tongue, you need to calm down.” Tool inches his way forward, and Skirt is right next to him, ready to take me down if he needs to.
Please, what a joke.
It would take four Ruthless Kings to take me down.
I spin on my heel and hurry to my bedroom, then slam the door behind me. I lock the door and sit on my bed. My heart is pounding. I lay my hand against my chest and feel it flutter against my palm, racing. Sweat drips down my back, and the material of my shirt sticks to me. The walls are closing in, and my head swims.
Everyone thinks I’m this emotionless monster, but I feel just as deep, if not more, than others. It takes its toll on my mind, my soul, and not being able to understand them only fucks with my head further.
It’s why I am the way I am.
Madness created me.
Abuse broke me.
And then madness stitched me back together again.
I’m insane with moments of being lucid, and I was created from something hopeless, which means there isn’t much room for improvement.
I’m starting to wonder if my soul is lost, or if I’m soulless and chasing a life that’s never meant to be mine.
The book falls from my hand, and I set the bottle on the ground, then let out a heavy exhale. Pressing the palms of my hands against my eyes, I breathe. I’ve never been like this before. I’ve always known my place in the club. I’m the crazy one, the one who’s obsessed with knives and loves getting bloody. I don’t think there’s something wrong with that, but one glimpse of Daphne and I want something else for the first time since I killed my uncle.