Liarholic Page 8

  I lie back on my bed, close my eyes, willing the nightmares to stay away, just for a little while.

  You need to fix this — now. Or you’re gonna die in this hellhole.

  I need to think about carrying on with all this, I think. Facing the rest of my life. One day at a time, one foot in front of the other. I can’t do this for much longer. The checks. The panic attacks. It’s become too much that it’s starting to seep through the fractures of my fake happy mask. Shepherd’s seen my true reflection. But is he the right person to help me?

  All I know right now is . . . I can’t keep doing this.

  11

  YOU

  My memories come in nightmares. And when I wake up in the dark, I scream out into the room, covered in a film of sweat.

  Immediately, I smell tobacco and cologne. Shepherd is still here. And he’s standing in my bedroom. Has he been watching me sleep?

  The nightlight has been turned off. Did he do that? Put me in darkness?

  I sleep with a small nightlight that casts a circle against the dark. I need it, otherwise I don’t sleep. Can’t sleep in the dark. Always, when I wake in the dark, something is there. A monster waiting. And now, a man from my past who I hated, though now, he is something else entirely.

  Some dark secret.

  Pushing myself up in bed, I whisper, ‘Shepherd,’ tasting it in my dry mouth and gagging over it.

  ‘Amylocks,’ he says. ‘Just something about you screaming loud in bed that turns me on.’

  And then I remember that crooked smirk.

  Beautiful.

  When I was a child, I thought he was beautiful. How long ago was that? How long has it been since I looked at him and thought he was beautiful?

  ‘Please don’t call me Amylocks. You don’t get to call me that anymore.’

  The name is a reminder of yesterday’s false hopes. I can’t handle the long fall. I can already feel my heart tumbling off a cliff.

  ‘Then why did you answer to Amylocks when I first arrived?’

  I don’t say anything. Can’t say anything.

  ‘Remember the nickname you gave me?’ he says, almost seductively. ‘Say it.’ It sounds like a question instead of an order.

  ‘No.’

  The nickname hurt me once already.

  The bed shifts under his weight as he stretches out beside me. One of his heavy boots scrapes against my bare ankle and I jerk in surprise.

  I try to move away from him. He catches my wrist and pulls me against him, his hand twisting over my skin like a pleasurable Chinese burn.

  ‘Put the light on,’ I beg. ‘Please. I need it.’

  ‘Since when do you tell me what to do?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Please what? Say it.’

  I don’t want to say it, but I want the light. Need the light. That little glowing circle to keep back the monsters. Want it so badly that I force the name past the knot in my throat.

  ‘Please, Law, turn the light back on.’

  He clicks his thumb and middle finger, like he’s a magician.

  He says, ‘Light,’ chuckling low in his throat.

  He moves closer to me. The nightlight casts back the black.

  I look at him closely, filling in the gaps in my memories. The shape of his broad shoulders, the way his large rough hands move, that darkling spark in his almost-black eyes.

  ‘I can make the nightmares go away,’ he whispers darkly as his hand explores the neck of my nightgown. Then abruptly, he gathers a fistful of fabric and tears it open.

  Those narrow black eyes burn mine with a fierceness I’d never seen until I saw him again. It’s eyes like that, which get me in trouble. Eyes that show I care about something. Eyes that prove I feel something. I harden my own eyes as I look back. I don’t want him to see it. I don’t want him to see that I would sell my soul just to feel him inside me again.

  He trails his thumb along my lips. Our eyes never leave each other’s, until we are breathing the same air. And then he kisses me. He plunges his tongue inside to lap at mine, and stars explode behind my eyelids.

  I shiver uncontrollably. I don’t know if it’s from the heat or fear. Maybe both. I’m instantly damp between my legs.

  I’m helpless. Hopeless. My stubborn spirit dies. And my body betrays me, like it’s been starving for a hundred years and needs to get every single drop of him — or die.

  Then those little dark whispers start crawling inside my ears.

  Elizabeth nearly died because of you. And you’re here, with a man you — is it lust? — feel some kind of . . . magic.

  His calloused hands come up and cup my chin, fingering the smooth skin of my jawline. I clench my teeth together hard, fighting that touch with every piece of me I have to fight with. I can’t want him. I can’t keep him.

  What is it about Shepherd that makes my heart thump in my chest like this? All stinging words and threats that I hate, yet all I can do is stare at those lips, think about how they feel on my lips, how they feel on my skin. I’m blind with vivid memories of him fucking me in the woods, every touch electric, every touch flammable, and I never felt so wonderful.

  He’s a dangerous drug an inch away from my fingertips.

  ‘I can make the pain go away,’ he breathes hot on my lips.

  The attraction is painful — toxic. I am Eve and Shepherd’s lips are the apple, and his tongue is the snake, pressing me with clever words for just one taste to seal my fate.

  ‘I know you want it hard and dirty, Amy.’ His deep, throaty voice penetrates every sensitive part of my trembling body. ‘I’d sell my soul to the fucking Devil just to give it to you.’

  I shut my eyes tight, trying to shield myself against the wicked.

  On the back of my eyelids I see Shepherd still, see how he bruised those perfect lips with his passion, see that lust in those eyes — a lust that mimics my own, drives me mad with my own desire.

  Every atom in my body screams to push him away. I try so hard to fight this toxic attraction, because if I sleep with Shepherd, again, I’m as good as dead. There’ll be no escape.

  I’ll be trapped with the Devil, forever.

  I’m breaking all my rules. Without rules, I lose control. When I lose control, cracks appear. And through them, the light goes out and darkness is my world. Then the monsters creep in.

  I want to sob but I can’t, want to scream but my throat won’t open. Shepherd knows I want him, knows it, he said it, he bloody said it — Yeah, you were a little scared, but you wanted me to fuck you — and if Shepherd knows that then he knows how to hurt me. He knows just where my weakness lies. It’s right there in the centre of my heart, closed inside a little magic box. The little piece of him I keep.

  I feel totally useless, totally worthless. A total failure.

  I loathe who I am. I am ugly, I repeat to myself. Again and again, and again. Because I don’t deserve this little bit of emotion kindling in the middle of my heart. It patters wildly. Beats erratically. It kind of feels like hope and fear.

  Hope, that Shepherd will numb the pain again.

  And fear, because I don’t think I’m strong enough to do the right thing.

  Say no to him.

  12

  ME

  She doesn’t flinch when I rip her thin pale nightie. And she keeps her eyes on me as I run my rough hands in slow circles over her soft, peachy tits.

  Her nipples rise, go hard. I catch them between my fingers, squeeze. I take one into my mouth, roll it under my tongue, then suck, like she’s all peaches and cream.

  The sounds she makes, her whimpering in the back of her throat, her groans of ecstasy, has my cock pulsing and straining against the seam of my fly.

  I indulge in her body, even as I consider her as a problem. Did I make a mistake in coming back?

  Before this, before her, where I sat in my head it was like being on the bottom of a sunken pit. I couldn’t see anything else around me. Didn’t care to see what else was out there. Now I’
ve gone over the horizon, I’m starting to see and feel all kinds of strange things.

  I can’t fucking control myself when I’m close to her. When I smell her. When I touch her. Maybe I should do the decent thing and pack up while I’ve still got the chance. While I’m still in one piece.

  But then it just takes one fucking glance. Hell, I hate seeing her pretty face look sad. It hurts to see her like that.

  It always hurts to look at you.

  The girl hates my goddamn DNA, but her face sparks up with a thousand fucking butterflies when I give her pleasure.

  I know I’m useless but there’s this stupid part of me, so fucking stupid, which grips on to this hope that I can do something.

  I did that to her. I broke her. I cut the first string when we were fourteen. Fuck if I’m not the one to fix the fault in her head. Fix what I broke.

  I don’t know why it matters, but it does.

  I should stay away, keep her safe from me. At this point, I’ve hurt her too much. Left her heart raw and aching. If only the rich smell of fear and halting arousal weren't so good. She’s getting turned on. Hungry for me. Wet for me. Of course, I never have to make any effort in that arena.

  I shift on the bed, opening her legs, and lower myself to taste her pussy. It’s good, salty-sweet, with a tang of something mysterious that is all her. I love the way her thighs go tight as I lap my tongue over her. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t want to enjoy it, like she feels dirty shame, like she doesn’t believe she deserves happiness. But when I look up, her eyes look so big in her face, so mysterious and wide, flickering like a butterfly wing. Hazy. Pleasured.

  She’s still looking at me. Into me.

  When I slide my fingers into her, she winces and turns her head away in embarrassment. Ashamed of her own pleasure? No, she’s ashamed because she knows me. I’m not just some stranger doing this to her. She knows me.

  Her monster in the dark.

  The beast in me wants to fuck her, go fast and hard, to consume her. It always does, but something holds me in check, makes me go slowly, gently, to see how she reacts.

  As I eat her out like it’s my last meal, and fuck her with my fingers, she gets wetter and restless. Her hands stop lying dead on the sheets beside her. One twists into the fabric and the other comes to rest on my shoulder. Did she mean to? She never touches me unless I make her.

  Her breath shifts with mine, gets faster until she’s panting out of her mouth.

  I don't know if I've ever made a girl come before. It never mattered. Not what I was there for. But when I get Amy to orgasm, the way her pussy clenches around my fingers, nearly makes me come in my pants like some horny teenager. Because I'm thinking of what it'll be like to have her go tight like that on my cock again, and that's enough to do the trick.

  When I smash my lips on hers, it’s a real kiss, an exchange instead of an assault. Her tongue against mine, slippery and tasting me. Oh, I bite her a little, I can’t help myself, but not too hard, and I keep the beast in check. There’s a way she moves her hips, a lift of invitation followed by a sudden retreat, that leaves me straining at the bit.

  She's shaking all over, almost crying, holding onto my shirt. It upsets her that I've taken her there. It's one of the reasons I did it. She was afraid I'd go all the way, make her come, and that's something she didn’t want to do. Only now she has. Gone wet and panting for me, given up that little part of herself to me.

  She’s quiet after that. Takes it all in silence. Her head turns so that she can look at the pool of light she begged for.

  As soon as it’s over, she returns to that sterile, empty place she always goes to when I stop touching her. Like I’m no longer there.

  Used then discarded.

  I get off the bed, stand over her and consider the shape of her. She’s so small on that bed.

  I go to the bathroom, wet my face in the sink and shake off the droplets of water. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, take a deep breath, and look at myself.

  Amy’s a mystery I want to unlock. And I don’t fucking understand why the need is so intense. Feels like a never-ending burn, the pain never quits. Never stops scraping, biting, gnawing away.

  ‘Is that a new a tattoo?’ Amy says. She’s teetering outside the open bathroom door.

  I lean forward on the sink, looking. She’s behind me, and that’s all it takes. My heart does all the annoying flippy shit it’s been doing for the past few weeks. Never felt a thing for another girl. Now the name Amy is encircled in hearts and floating in a fizzy bubble behind my ribs.

  ‘The one on your back,’ she says.

  I’m half gone, don’t register her words. I’m all caught up over sunshine brain hair, little ears, and emerald cities.

  I splash more water on my face. It’s not cold enough to wake up.

  This is fucking ridiculous.

  The newly-inked mermaid tattoo on my broad back is dark and painful against my pale skin.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply.

  ‘Why a mermaid?’

  I look at her reflection in the mirror.

  The mermaid has a brain bun of hair on her head, with a little ray of sunshine on the side.

  I just shrug.

  Leaving the bathroom, Amy goes back and sits on her bed. I look at her for a long time, processing my thoughts.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ she says.

  ‘You know what.’

  ‘You’ve come back to, what? Hurt me some more?’ She exhales loudly. ‘I can’t be hurt more, Shepherd. I wouldn’t want to waste your time.’

  ‘I told you, I’m not done with you,’ I rasp.

  She lies on her side, facing the light, but her face is covered. Leaning over, I smoothe back her sweat-matted hair, look at her closely. Her eyes are empty, gazing far away.

  ‘When will you be done?’ she whispers.

  ‘Never.’

  I don’t know if that’s true, if that gnawing thing in me might not eventually burn out. But I like how scared she looks when I say it. Makes my cock hard again when her juices on me aren’t even dry. I stroke her bare ass, peachy and soft, and stroke her shoulder blade.

  ‘Something like that would kill a person,’ she says.

  ‘I’m not gonna apologize for being obsessed with you, Amy. So get used to it.’

  She meets my gaze. The thing is there again, in her eyes. The part of me that she had when we were fourteen. Sometimes I like seeing it in her eyes, but most of the time I want to get it back. That’s when the urge to hurt her is strongest. Say something nasty, do something vicious, just like I did all them years back.

  It’s stupid and superstitious, but the moment when the ghosts leave her eyes, I have my soul back. And I need to leave while I still have it.

  13

  YOU

  IT’S WEIGHING DAY.

  I’m the only girl who isn’t worried. I don’t have an eating disorder. I’m naturally slight and skinny. Though, since my mother’s death, I have lost my appetite. The other day, Rebecca mentioned briefly if I was eating right. I looked too pale, she said.

  Lilac is bent over the sink, glugging water from the tap. She isn’t anorexic, but I worry because Lilac has quite an influence over the other girls. Scarlett self-harms but she doesn’t have any issues with food. I don’t worry for her. I worry for Daisy. And for Max.

  Daisy leans against the cold tiles, watching. I heard her crying the other night. I imagine the staff had to force her to finally leave her room. She’s wearing a tartan hat with a red bobble.

  She reminds me of a woodland elf, so slight she could fly away.

  ‘What isn’t worth it?’ Daisy asks, nervously whispering, eyes bloodshot in her sunken face.

  ‘Lilac is waterloading. To weigh more on the scales.’

  Lilac comes up from the tap like a drowning man, gasping for air, water dripping from her chin on to her Wonder Woman nightdress.

  ‘S’right,’ she tells Daisy. ‘Don’t let the scumbags beat you.’

&n
bsp; Daisy moves forward to the tap, and bends to take some water, holding her hat with one hand so it doesn’t slip, and in that moment I see a girl, just a girl in a hat, who needs help. I put my hand over her arm, which is so thin I can touch my thumb to my finger.

  ‘Don’t, Daisy. Please. Think about Max.’

  She pulls back from me, nervously running her fingers over her hat and reaching for a strand of hair. She wraps her finger around it and tugs so the curly strands fall away from her scalp, on to the tiled floor.

  ‘But Lilac is doing it.’

  ‘Daisy, if you start waterloading, you’ll have to do it every month. Don’t you want to get better?’

  Suddenly, a cold realisation dawns on me. Isn’t this the same thing that Shepherd is trying to teach me?

  Daisy’s mouth drops open and I can see where the enamel has been eroded from her teeth, all that stomach acid playing havoc.

  ‘Give yourself a chance to get better,’ I say to Daisy.

  Lilac makes a sound like humph, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and neatens her sodden nightdress.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m gonna go for it,’ Lilac says proudly, waddling out of the bathroom to the weighing area. ‘I must’ve drunk four litres. My tummy hurts, it’s so big. But at least I’ll weigh more.’

  I look at Daisy and wink. ‘That’s if her bladder doesn’t explode first.’

  It feels good when she offers a tiny smile in return.

  After lunch is served in the dining room, Rebecca pops her head into my room. She’s holding a strawberry cupcake.

  ‘Here, Amy.’ She hands it to me, and crumbs fall on my fingers.

  ‘Thank you, Rebecca.’

  She looks around my room. ‘Why don’t you put some posters up or something? There must be someone who could bring some nice things in for you? What about the person who sends you letters?’

  I mumble vaguely, suggesting I will think about it, and put down the cupcake. But I’ll never make this room comfortable, and I won’t have anyone visit me. I won’t even reply to Elizabeth’s letters. I don’t deserve any comforts. This isn’t my home. It’s a cell.