Toxicity

by Katie May

  I’d rather die than have my body abused again.

  We enter the master bedroom once more, and Aurora freezes when she sees how I managed to escape. After a moment, she brings her hands together in a slow, languid clap.

  “Bravo, mommy dearest. I always knew you were smart.”

  I want to scream at her, threaten her, lunge at her, but Moder’s restraining hand on my shoulder keeps me back. At some point, the doctor must’ve left as well, leaving behind only us three.

  Can I take them? Moder’s big, but I believe I’m faster. And I can definitely beat Aurora in a fight.

  The thought leaves me as I watch Aurora’s face crumble. To my shock, she curls up on her father’s old bed and holds a framed picture of him to her chest. There have never been any pictures of me on the nightstand. Only him.

  As Aurora cries for her father, I try to look at her not as psycho murderer, but as a girl the same age as me. A girl who has lost her father. But any empathy I feel for her diminishes when she abruptly jumps to her feet and drops the picture to the ground. Grabbing one of the broken shards of glass, she stalks towards me.

  Moder grabs my hands from behind as I wiggle and squirm, desperate pleas escaping my lips. Blood pools around the glass from how tightly Aurora grips it, but she pays it no mind as she brings it to the center of my chest.

  Movements painstakingly slow, she cuts the shirt down the middle. There’s madness in her eyes—madness woven with lust and want and greed and wistful desire. Once the shirt is cut, she instructs Moder to release me and pulls it off my shoulders, leaving me bare to the world.

  I’m crying, sobbing, desperate to cover myself.

  Aurora brings the shirt to her nose and inhales deeply.

  “His scent is tainted by your slutiness,” she rasps. Before I can reply, can defend myself, she lifts her hand and slaps me across the face. I let out a startled cry as pain erupts in my cheek and my decidedly broken nose. “I wonder if he’ll still fuck you if your face is no longer perfect.” Her lips are set in a grim line, but wonderment dances in her eyes.

  She’s sick. Fucking sick.

  “Stay in here for now until I’m ready for you,” she says, waving one hand dismissively while the other tightens on Phillip’s shirt.

  I don’t like the sound of that.

  She saunters out the door, a naked—and rock hard—Moder right on her heel. She turns at the last second, golden hair haloing her cherubic face. A spark lights up eyes. “You’ve been a bad girl, mommy dearest. It’s time for you to learn your lesson.”

  With that ominous statement, she leaves, pulling the door closed and locking it behind her.

  Chapter 25

  I waste no time in getting dressed in one of my old outfits. A black shirt, green skirt with black polka dots, and stockings. I quickly pull my hair up into a makeshift bun.

  I wish Jared had allowed me to wear yoga pants and sweatshirts. Instead, my closet consists of nothing but skirts and dresses.

  It’ll do.

  Now, I need a weapon. After careful deliberation, I grab the glass shard from the ground—the same one Aurora had used to cut off my shirt—and a sock from the back of my closet. Wrapping the sock around the glass, I hold it ready in front of me.

  I’ll get out of here.

  Or I’ll die trying.

  I’m left in the room for hours. Alone.

  I can’t discern if it’s a blessing or a curse.

  Futilely, I attempt to break open the bars on the window. Morning sunlight splices through, but the sun—like everything else—feels unattainable. I pound my fists until they’re red and bloody against the glass, eyes fixed on Susie’s house. From this angle, I can only make out the curved roof and one window. The leafless tree branches obscure the rest of the house and driveway from my view.

  I have no way of knowing if the men are still inside. Are they looking for me? Do they think I ran? Do they even care?

  That thought—a product of a lifetime of abuse—is difficult to push aside, to bury. The little girl within me whose prostitute mother died of drugs, who was raped and forced to partake in lewd activities, who was married at eighteen to a man three times her age, fears she has been forgotten.

  That the love the men expressed was conditional.

  I ignore those berating thoughts, burn them in the inferno of my mind, and focus on escape. I’ll see the men, my men, again.

  I even try to pick the lock on the door, but it’s hopeless. The lock is designed so only something immensely small can fit inside. Not even my bobby-pin works.

  Defeated, I collapse on the bed, the shard of glass still gripped tightly in my hand.

  There’s not much to do but wait. My mind becomes my enemy. What else is there to do but allow fear to wreak havoc on my insides? Insidious, crushing fear. Combined with that is something akin to self-loathing and guilt. I know it’s irrational of me to take blame for Aurora’s actions, but depression is a fickle fucker.

  If I hadn’t married Jared…

  If I hadn’t gone to the club…

  If I hadn’t run to the school…

  My turbulent thoughts mirror a plane nose-diving towards the rocky ground below. I try to stop it, try to steer it to safety, but the fall and impending crash is inevitable. All I can do is hold on for the ride and hope I don’t burn with the wreckage.

  But fuck, I want to burn.

  No, you don’t.

  Fight.

  You can fight.

  You’re a survivor.

  But my reflection in the mirror doesn’t show one. Instead, it highlights the pale face and terrified of eyes of a victim.

  No!

  I swipe that thought away, metaphorically shoving it off the table and watching it clatter against the ground.

  Like the picture frame, I need it to break. I can’t have that one word—victim—define me. I can’t let it destroy me as it desires to.

  My eyes catch on something hidden beneath clothing and jewelry on the cluttered dresser. A plan forms—a shit one, but a plan all the same.

  After hours of mindless mental ranting, the lock to the door clicks open. Desperately, I shove the glass into my bra, ignoring the sting of pain as it nicks skin.

  Aurora dances into the room, Griffin behind her.

  This time, she’s wearing clothes—a surprisingly modest pink dress and knee-high socks. It makes her seem childlike and elfin, belying the monster within. Griffin is bedecked in his police uniform, the badge taunting me.

  How can I fight against a police officer? Someone who’s respected and revered? Who would believe me?

  Hopelessness churns my stomach.

  “How are you feeling, mommy dearest?” Aurora sings, bouncing into the room. I stay perfectly still where I sit on the bed, back ramrod straight.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I ask, the fear rapidly eroding away the impenetrable, granite wall I have erected around myself. “What’s your plan? The second you murder me…” I trail off, eyes flickering to Griffin over her shoulder. His dull, lifeless eyes cascade over me with disinterest.

  “Unless I make it look like a suicide,” Aurora muses off-handedly.

  Crazy fucking bitch.

  The more she talks, the more light enters her eyes until it appears like twin flames dancing just beneath the surface.

  “The poor, pathetic wife who murdered her husband can’t handle the guilt. So she kills herself in their old home. Sort of poetic justice, don’t you think? And then the striking step-daughter, the victim, wakes from her slumber. Phillip will be overjoyed to see me.” She claps her hands together, a cunning smile playing on her pouty lips. I notice Griffin’s eyes narrow at Phillip’s name, but he doesn’t contradict her.

  Interesting.

  Maybe her boyfriends aren’t as comfortable with her obsession with Phillip as I initially thought.

  “I didn’t kill Jared,” I say slowly, carefully, enunciating each word. “You did.”

  “But I meant to kill you!�
�� Her body vibrates with fury, and she takes a deep, calming breath to control her rage. Her lashes flutter closed, and when they reopen, she’s significantly calmer. “So I guess, inadvertently, you did kill him.”

  “You poisoned your own father,” I whisper. “What type of sick, twisted bitch does that?”

  Her palm strikes my cheek, whipping my head to the side. I have no doubt that by the end of this, my face will be a canvas of bruises and scars.

  “Shut up, you filthy whore! I wouldn’t have had to do anything if you would’ve just kept your stupid, slutty pussy away from Phillip.”

  I want to comment on how good he felt inside of me. How my stupid, slutty pussy gloved his hard cock like it was made for me. How his eyes had warmed with love when he fucked me. But I know I can’t rile her up.

  Not if I want to live.

  I press my lips into a thin line to keep from baiting her.

  “But after this is over, after you’re dead, Phillip will realize that I’m the girl for him.” Her voice turns dreamy, wistful, and her eyes glaze over. Griffin’s hand tightens on the wooden doorframe. Jealousy momentarily darkens his expression, a juxtaposition to his white knuckles.

  “And you think you’ll get away with it?” I ask Aurora with a scathing glare, ignoring Griffin. For now.

  She laughs, the sound light and lilting. “Of course! I have an expert witness who claims I was at the hospital, comatose. And I have two police officers to do my bidding!” She leans forward to whisper conspiratorially. “I call them my three fairies. They’ll do anything for me because they love me.”

  I turn towards Griffin with a droll look. “I have to say I’m impressed. Not a lot of guys would do what you did for a girl. Risk your careers. Your life. I’m impressed, honestly. Especially since Aurora is in love with another man. You guys must love her very much to be okay with this.” I take pleasure in the way Griffin’s face darkens, hardens, carved from granite itself. “Especially since the second Phillip notices her, she’s going to leave you. She loves him more than anyone, and—”

  “Shut your lying mouth!” Griffin roars as his fist connects with the side of my face. I taste blood—the copper tang unmistakable.

  “Billy,” Aurora coos, and I realize that must be his first name. Billy. Huh. Wouldn’t have expected that.

  “But I guess you don’t need to worry,” I say to Griffin, spitting out the excess blood. “Phillip will never love her. He already told me he loves me. But I can’t remember. Was it before or after he fucked me senseless?” I tap a finger against my chin as I pretend to ponder.

  If this was a cartoon, Aurora would have smoke billowing from her ears. Already, her face is turning a crimson red in anger. Her lips peel back from her teeth in a snarl.

  “Phillip loves me!” she screams, stomping her foot like a petulant child. “He loves me, and he’s going to choose me! Just watch, you lying bitch!”

  Griffin’s face is a blank mask as he regards his rapidly unraveling girlfriend. His unhinged, obsessed girlfriend. Hopefully, her blatant feelings for Phillip will cause discord within the group.

  “Griffin, come on!” Aurora screams, running out of the room. Her tiny hands are in fists, blood dripping from where her nails burrow in flesh.

  A part of me feels bad for her. Unrequited love is a bitter pill to swallow.

  But that part is very, very small.

  Aurora spins on her heel, silky hair flying, and levels me with a glare capable of cutting glass. My palms sweat at the raw fury, the blistering rage, evident in that one look.

  I think I may have crossed the line.

  “You’re going to die, bitch,” she hisses. “Today.”

  Chapter 26

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I pull the shard of glass from my bra and hold it in front of me like a large katana sword. I know the glass will do little to no damage against my foes, but it’s better than nothing.

  Unbidden, my eyes flicker to the camera nestled beneath a pile of clothes, the lens facing the doorway and the red light blinking.

  Jared used to love filming us. I never understood why—the man seemed to despise me, using my body only for sex and then immediately discarding it. I have the distinct feeling he sent the videos to his friends. Maybe even Gerald.

  Hopefully, if I die, someone will come across the camera. Someone will be able to hear Aurora confess the truth. I’ll be dead, but at least Aurora won’t be living.

  There’s grim satisfaction in that.

  This time, I remain staring at the door, the glass raised to fend off Aurora. It doesn’t take too long—less than an hour—before the door is opened once more.

  I don’t think; I lunge.

  Silently, I dive for her, the blade cutting through the sensitive skin of her cheek. It feels as if I’m cutting through butter—so incredibly soft.

  She lets out a startled yelp, hands raising to defend herself, but before I can attack again, Griffin tackles me to the ground. I release an “oomf” as my breath leaves me, my lungs rapidly trying to refill on air. Pain radiates from my broken nose and cheek.

  “You stupid bitch!” Aurora screeches, and I don’t know what annoys me more: her whining voice or the word “bitch.”

  Griffin remains on top of me, a deadly glint in his eyes. The suspicion once running rampant within his gaze is noticeably absent.

  But then again, a good blowjob can make a fool out of any man.

  “Get her to her feet,” Aurora instructs venomously. Like a good little dog, Griffin lifts my body up, hands curling around my upper arms from behind.

  I try desperately, futilely, to plead with them. “She doesn’t love you, Griffin. She can’t. I wonder if she truly even loves Phillip—”

  “Shut up!” Aurora screams, lunging towards me and punching me in the stomach. She’s weak, frail, so the punch doesn’t do much besides emit a brief stab of pain.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” I attempt to keep my voice placatingly, as if I am speaking to a young child. Because, in a way, that’s all Aurora is. A young, frightened child. “I’m bruised. Beaten. They’re going to know someone hurt me. They’re not going to believe it was a suicide.”

  Momentary regret flits in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can grasp it, bring it to the surface.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she huffs. “We came up with a solution.” She nods towards Griffin behind me, and his hands tighten imperceptibly on my arms. “Richard will take the fall.”

  I don’t know which one Richard is—the doctor or Moder—and I don't care. Hopefully, I can use her words against her.

  Swiveling to face Griffin, I attempt to infuse as much sincerity in my voice as I can muster. It’s surprisingly hard when I want nothing more than to stab him and watch him burn. “She’s going to blame a man she claims she loves,” I plead. “Don’t you see she’s unstable? Don’t you see that she doesn’t truly love you? She loves no one but herself. She’s twisted. She could just have easily blamed you for my murder. She’s fucked up. If you truly love her, you should get her help.” Indecision mars Griffin’s face, his brows scrunching together and his nose crinkling. For a moment, I think I got through to him. I honestly do.

  But then I feel something sharp in my stomach.

  My eyes widen, shocked, as I stare at the dagger protruding from my abdomen.

  Aurora’s eyes are alive with a ferocious, predatory vengeance. Anger.

  “This is for my father, bitch. And Phillip.”

  She twists the knife.

  I see stars.

  Behind Aurora, I hear a fierce battle cry a second before my step-daughter is tackled to the ground. The colorful clothing and dyed hair is unmistakable.

  Nat.

  She pounds into Aurora’s face with renewed vigor. I watch Griffin take a step closer, seemingly coming out of his stupor. With his hands no longer holding me up, I fall to the ground in a puddle of rich red blood.

  Griffin removes a gun from his holster, hands
steady despite his rapidly shifting eyes.

  Voice gurgled, I scream, “Nat!”

  The gun goes off, piercing my best friend in the shoulder. She falls to the ground in a bloody heap.

  My lungs tighten, and unimaginable agony spears through me. It makes the pain from the knife wound seem insignificant in comparison.

  Not Nat.

  Please no.

  Aurora stumbles to her feet, noticeable bruises already appearing on her pasty skin. Raw rage flashes in her eyes.

  “You stupid bitch.”

  Griffin trains his gun on me, and I’m struck by how cold his eyes are. Glacial. Empty.

  It strikes me then that Aurora might not have been the only psychopath in the group.

  The gun fires once, twice, and I wince, bracing myself for death.

  It never comes.

  Deluca stands in the doorway like an avenging angel, blood smearing his dark hair to his scalp. Griffin falls to his knees, two bullet holes in his chest. His wide, desperate eyes search for Aurora, but she isn’t looking at him.

  She’s looking at me.

  “I hate you!” she roars, lunging for Griffin's fallen gun. The second her fingers would’ve grasped the handle, Deluca fires once more.

  Aurora falls to the ground with a pained groan.

  I’m dying.

  That one thought reverberates through my head as I hear the sound of a radio crackling. It’s all I can focus on as Deluca drops to his knees beside me, hand stroking my hair.

  “Stay with me, Mallie. Please,” he begs. His voice is choked, broken, almost as if he’s crying.

  But why would he cry over me?

  My awareness fades in and out. I’m dimly aware of Deluca whispering incoherent phrases in my ear. And then, louder, him screaming, “We’re in here!”

  There’s pounding footsteps as a stampede races up the staircase.

  My consciousness is rapidly waning, but I know there’s still one more thing I need to do.

  Tugging on Deluca’s arm, he brings his ear down to my lips. This close, I see a trail of tears turning the blood on his cheeks pink.