by Brianna Jean
It wasn’t long after the blonde never came back that there was a shift in Annalise. A shift so severe that it made me want to crawl to her—on bloody fucking knees if I had to—because night after night, she sat in her bed with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, staring off into the distance. She would occasionally read, but even that seemed like a chore for her. I was there, watching as she struggled to survive, like something inside of her was too broken to repair without her sister. Sometimes she would pace the length of her small bedroom, other times she would throw things in anger. But she never cried.
As the years passed, Annalise appeared numb. She was lonely and stoic, disappearing inside herself. The visions came less and less, my hold on her began to loosen. I had to fight to keep them coming, forcing myself to sleep at random times during the day. I tried meditating, getting high, drinking myself into hallucinations. I tried everything I could think of to find her.
And those few times it did work, I thought she was okay. Lonely, but still okay. A little angry and a lot broken, but I honestly thought she was going to be fine, that as she grew up, her past would become just that, her past. I was sure that her spirit hadn’t broken.
Tonight’s events proved me wrong. The girl I claimed as mine had been growing angrier and angrier with each week that passed. Each night that she spent without Brinley made for another night of unshed tears.
After tonight, I saw that my Annalise was broken and scarred and brutal. She beat other women for money—she defended herself against me and my brothers.
Over the years, I took notice of the little things she did, how she would chew on the end of her pencils when she was deep in concentration or how her body never fully relaxed—she was tense even in her sleep. I learned a new little tidbit each day, until all I could see was her.
But now I knew what she looked like in the flesh. All grown up, she was breathtaking. Her lips had filled out to soft pink pillows, and her body was now covered in various tattoos.
How was I supposed to convince her that I was a friend, not someone who was out to cause her any harm?
Tonight I watched in what seemed like slow motion as she called on the beast that lay dormant inside her before she issued her barely veiled threat.
“Get out of my way.”
She straightened her posture and prepared for the fight, then she sent a whispered challenge in our direction.
All three of us. Without even realizing it.
Her beast looked at mine and immediately, there was a connection. I had been seeing her all these years for a reason.
To my surprise, her beast was strong—maybe even stronger than ours. I didn’t understand how that was possible without her being Transitioned, but as soon as I scented her power, all hell broke loose inside me.
My beast roared and bit its fangs through my soul, sending venom deep into my bloodstream. He was angry, possessive. He’d come to know her over the last eleven years, and he knew my brothers hadn’t. Lanier and Quint didn’t give two fucks about her yesterday.
But I gave a fuck, I vowed to save her years ago. I didn’t shift, didn’t let him out, but instead did everything I could to bring on visions of her. That was how I spent my time—for a fucking decade.
So now? Now, it was time to get my girl. It was time to protect her during the Transition, time to get her on board with this plan and show her that for whatever reason, we were asked to find her, and while my brothers didn’t take it seriously, I did.
She was in danger, but we weren’t the threat against her. There was an evil brewing out there somewhere, and it was Annalise that the Puppet Leader wanted.
There’s a target on her back, and my brothers and I were asked to find and protect her, but no one told us what or who we were protecting her from.
Together, we needed to figure out what this was all about, but first, we had to get her to trust us. Which meant that I had my work cut out for me.
Beast to beast, soul to soul, I’d patch her up and show her that shedding tears wouldn’t be the end of her. It would be the beginning.
I closed the door behind me and almost lost my shit at the state the apartment was in.
Fucking Joey.
Making as much noise as possible, I pounded into the old kitchen and threw my backpack down on the dirty counter before opening the retro 1950s style fridge and throwing beer bottles around so the sound of glass hitting glass rang around the room. Finding a water bottle shoved in the back—behind a fuck ton of beer—I slammed the glass bottles out of the way and reached for it.
I closed the door and turned around, taking in the old kitchen. Peeling mustard yellow wallpaper, a mold stain on the ceiling, bright yellow countertops. It was fucking gross. I fought to stay calm as I popped the cap off the bottle and chugged the water down before throwing the plastic into the blue recycling bin in the corner of the room.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Joey shouted. I knew he’d hear me making noise and bring his slut of the night with him to check on me.
Sure enough, Joey came stomping down the hall in a huff, bringing a trail of fresh smoke from the blunt he held between his fingers.
And he’s smoking my weed. What a fucking day.
Joey was about six foot, standing in the door of our kitchen wearing nothing but low hanging sweats. His dark brown hair was all fucked up and crazy, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot, lessening the impact of his dark brown gaze on me. He was handsome in a dirty sort of way.
Being raised by the hands of poverty left a scar on his soul, hardened his features, numbed his emotions. He became a shell of who he was meant to be, and I knew a little something about that. I could relate.
Turning around, I opened the cabinet above the sink and pushed my way through half empty bottles of liquor before I found my target. Vodka. I sighed and hugged the bottle to my chest.
“Nothing now,” I replied, ignoring the half-dressed slut at his side. I’d get her out of here, then I’d let him have it.
“Your fucking face is busted, Annie,” Joey spat, pointing at my split lip.
And there was my window of opportunity.
“I told you to stop calling me that, Joey,” I bitched. He had his arm draped over the shoulders of the leggy blonde. Boxed dye. Trashy.
His usual.
“Why are you always such a bitch?” Joey rolled his eyes and walked the blonde past me, going for the open cabinet, bumping into my shoulder as he went.
Taking the opportunity, I went for the girl.
I couldn’t hit him because I needed his rent money to keep the place we lived in, even if it was just for a few more months.
Dropping the bottle of vodka onto the counter next to my backpack, I reached forward and threw his arm off her before quickly replacing it by wrapping my hand around the back of her neck. She was taller than me by a few inches, but it didn’t matter.
I pressed my pinkie finger down into the pressure point on her throat, forcing her to submit.
She squealed and tried to kick me off, but I didn’t budge.
“Hmm, why am I such a bitch? Because you bring your whores around and they leave their shit everywhere! Look at this place, Joey! What the fuck?” The place was trashed. Dirty thongs (that weren’t mine), bras (that also weren’t mine), open bags of chips, cigarette butts, empty energy drink cans, broken lamps. A fucking mess.
Dragging the slut to the front door, I threw it open and shoved her body through it. “Don’t even consider coming back,” I said calmly, like it made no difference to me.
Because it didn’t.
That was her one warning. If she wanted to come back, that was fine with me, but then her ass was free game. I warned her.
Turning back to face Joey’s stunned face, I kicked the door shut behind me, not caring that blondie was still standing there, also stunned.
“Clean this place up, Joe. For fuck’s sake.”
I snagged my backpack and my vodka off the counter and walked toward my
room just before I heard Joey start laughing. Uproariously laughing.
“Fucking savage,” he muttered as he caught his breath.
I smiled.
He knew I took no shit and we had a deal. He could fuck whoever he wanted—we weren’t together—but I wasn’t going to let his sluts leave the place a mess.
His room? By all means, trash the place. But I liked to cook in that kitchen and watch TV on that couch. I was not going to have some girl’s dirty thong next to me while I was trying to fucking chill.
Shuddering at the thought, I crossed the threshold of my room and closed the door behind me before throwing my backpack on the floor near my closet and the bottle of vodka on my unmade bed.
I glanced around the room and sighed, the familiar sight making my chest ache.
My walls were covered in album posters of my favorite music, no paint could be seen. I made sure, when I officially took over this room, that I would make the space exactly how I wanted it. Music was the one thing that made me feel like I was inexplicably understood.
Twinkling lights were strung up along my ceiling. My small closet to the left of the bed held what little wardrobe I possessed. Walking over to my dresser, I picked up the Bluetooth speaker and pulled my phone out of my back pocket before syncing it and pressing play on the paused song.
“100 Letters” by Halsey blared out of the tiny box. I closed my eyes for a second and let the lyrics wash over me. This song always reminded me of my relationship with Joey.
I met him when I was eighteen and just wanted to get out of my foster home. One drunken night at a bar, and I followed him home.
We were good for a while; he was sweet, and the sex was good, but by the end of the first year, he wanted me to open up. He asked too many questions that I refused to answer.
That’s when it all went bad.
He’d pick a fight just so he could accuse me of hiding shit when I wasn’t. I’m not the type to argue for the sake of arguing. he didn’t believe that I wasn’t hiding anything from him, when in reality, I just didn’t want to talk about my past. So fine, he didn’t have to believe me. It made no difference to me.
But for him, it made all the difference.
When I didn’t open up and give him what he wanted, he fucked around behind my back. Rather than just cave and tell him how I turned out to be a cold-hearted bitch, I trained more at the gym to get out of the house. After months of fights escalating to the physical sort, I came home to find him fucking some girl on our couch.
So I beat her bloody. I’m not one to be disrespected in my own home.
He snapped, I snapped. We both left that fight with black eyes, but we were finally able to take a breath.
He knew I couldn’t give him what he wanted, and I knew he wasn’t going to stop asking for it. So we broke up.
But underneath the asshole, Joey was a good guy, and he knew that I’d never be able to afford another place to live. So I moved into the room across from his, and we agreed to split rent until I could afford to move out. Two years later, I was almost ready.
In those two years, I hadn’t been exactly…celibate. I just didn’t allow anyone I fucked to stay the night. I’m a one and done kind of girl.
I walked to the mirror I had hanging on the back of my closet door and stared at my reflection. I pulled my hair tie out and watched the thick black mass float around my shoulders. I looked tired, my lilac colored eyes were dull, my face bruised from the fight. Exhaustion was a weight on my body as I turned toward my bed. Thinking about my epic failure of a relationship with Joey always led me to think of the one and only other relationship I’d had.
Three years ago, a few months before I met Joey, I watched the one and only guy I ever loved walk away from me. He left me more broken than I’d ever been. He picked me up after Brinley left, only to do the same thing when I needed him the most, when I thought that surely I wasn’t going to make it any longer. I told him I loved him, I knew he loved me too, but he left me rather than face the consequences. I was back to being the girl who had nothing and no one.
I rarely ever thought about him, tried to never allow myself to remember how it felt to be loved and cared for after Brinley left.
My sister, my best friend.
I pictured her beautiful blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. She was the only family I had. Blood or not, we were sisters. She would let me hold her after my sessions with our foster father. She knew I didn’t need to be taken care of; I just wanted to make the beating worth it.
I held her because I knew that I was protecting her by letting him use me. She was the reason I made the deal in the first place. I wouldn’t let him touch her, and knowing that I was, in my own way, saving her from the same kind of abuse…well, that made the suffering worth it.
After the beatings, I’d hold her in my arms, her head on my chest, and I would cry. I’d let go of my anger, and I’d feel the pain he inflicted, in the safety of her arms.
Once she was adopted and I’d stopped hearing her voice, I couldn’t find it in me to cry anymore. She was no longer there to hold on to.
My reason had been taken from me.
Shortly after she left, a new lifeline showed up. Another bright light—this one bringing romantic love into my life. I couldn’t cry without her, but Alias showed up shortly after she’d left.
Even now, it seemed to physically hurt when I thought of him. Losing him had been more painful than anything my foster father did to me.
But even when I had Alias, I still held onto this anger. It wasn’t hard to do since I didn’t even know where Brinley had been taken to. She told me she’d call me every day, told me she would find a way out once she turned eighteen—that she would come back for me.
But she never did.
She never called.
Since that day, I hadn’t shed a single tear. I let my foster father continue to beat me and got angrier with each session. I was filled with so much rage that after a while, I needed an outlet.
That’s how I started fighting.
I took my aggression out on the mats. I beat the faces of random girls and didn’t feel bad about it, because at the end of the day, they had asked for it when they stepped in the ring with me. I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty about hurting them when fighting was pure choice. The ring may have been illegal, but JD kept his record clean. No fighter was forced to be there.
It was all about the easy money. The bets. The atmosphere.
No, those girls didn’t have to be there, they didn’t have to face me. But since they were, I used them to get out my anger, and it was an added bonus to make a little money while I did it.
I had only loved two people in my life, and both of them left me, never to return.
Did I want someone to love again? Someone to get to know me through and through? Yes, eventually. But I knew I wasn’t ready. I was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I had thorns around my black heart, hate in my soul.
Trusting someone with my pain wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
So I fucked. A lot.
Don’t judge, a girl has needs.
Or judge, I don’t give a fuck.
I crawled up further onto my full-sized bed—not bothering to take my clothes off—and snatched the bottle of vodka from underneath my ass. After opening it, I swallowed a few healthy gulps, smiling at the burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat.
I’d be asleep in no time.
I took the elevator down to the ground floor of our building and made my way lazily to the front door, invitation in hand. I was surprised that my best friends trusted me with this girl, though I was the only one who could get the job done. I supposed that reason was good enough.
I was buzzing as I waited for the elevator doors to open, my body running on residual energy from our little meet up in the alley with a certain female. It wasn’t a good feeling.
The doors dinged, and I was let out into the lobby, walking with purpose past the doorman, giving him a dip
of my chin in acknowledgement.
My chest twisted as I pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between my lips, lighting it with my Zippo. Standing on the sidewalk, in the early hours of morning, I wanted to throw fire at the city brownstones, rip children from their parents, steal cash from local business owners. All for the fuck of it.
You see, my mind was a place that even I didn’t want to be. It’s dark in there. A swirling tide of misery and destruction.
Every day, I lived with a driving need for pain and humiliation, fear and hopelessness. I ached to watch the Humans suffer.
Correction: the monster within me wanted the Humans to suffer.
I didn’t associate with him. Not on a personal level, anyway. I ignored his dark desires as much as I could. I pushed and clawed and fought for control over the beast. But it always won.
Because unlike my best friends, I was the beast. I couldn’t separate one from the other. I was at home with my demons, living amongst Angels.
I walked, throwing my lighter in the air and using my magic to slow its pace as it fell gracefully into my waiting palm. I was biding my time, waiting out the hunger, hoping for a night to myself, but I was too wound up to deny it for long.
Then it dawned on me…I couldn’t escape the hunger, but it just so happened that I was on my way to a certain girl’s house. A girl who lived and breathed negative emotions. A perfect feast for a Demon like me.
Tonight, I didn’t have to do any damage.
Tonight, I’d feed and be fucking happy while I did it.
I shifted, my body crying out in suffocating agony for only a blink before I cloaked myself, sniffed the air, and charged into the darkness to find the only Human I actually wanted to taste. After all, I had an invitation to give her.
A gush of warm wind woke me up later that night, causing me to stand from the bed, instantly aware.
“What the fuck?” I grumbled, confused. Looking to my right, I saw that the small window next to my bed was wide open, bringing in the sticky night air.
I locked that window.
Well, I never unlocked that window.
