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From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. Alone, Edgar Allan Poe
Crying is for people who deserve it; that release. I don’t fucking deserve shit.
Being horny, hungry, and having just beat a woman to death with a hammer does that to people.
“She’s got borderline personality disorder.” Natalie stumbles backward, throwing up her hands. “A few home issues. Don’t mess with her, Mayhem.” She frowns. “She’s been doing well.”
She’s doing well. Well I’m just the person to fuck that up for her, aren’t I?
My New Year’s resolutions are simple: Get my sister back from Jeremiah. Don’t fuck anyone that’s kin to me. And maybe kill my dad if I’m feeling ambitious.
“What do you want?” “What do you think I want?” “You wanna fuck me?”
She’s fucking smiling while I hold a knife to her throat.
“I know a devil when I see one.” “And just how many devils have you met?” I ask her, leaning down close, the blade still against her neck. I hear her swallow. “Not many,” she admits, “but every time I look in the mirror, there’s one staring back at me.”
“You don’t care about fucking dead bodies,” she says a little breathlessly, “but you’re worried I’m underage?”
“I guess Jeremiah Rain and I have that in common. Incest?”
I guess when you’re raised with monsters, those with the dullest teeth seem the most angelic.
If she has a boyfriend, I’ll just throw him off of a cliff so I can keep fucking her.
“Keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth.
Just a will smith moment
With Maverick, it seemed like it was for both of us. A shared pain. The kind God himself might give me. And Maverick could be god. I’ve already fell to my knees for him.
She makes me feel bad and good all at once, and I fucking hate that. Hate how her green eyes lock on mine when I treat her like shit while I fuck her. Hate how those same eyes look at fucking macaroni and cheese like it’s a gift from god. Hate how in the twenty-four hours I spent with her, she made me feel like a god.
Romantic comedies never have devils in them. It’s why they’re so easy for me to watch. I don’t get attached to the good guys.
“I’m her mother’s boyfriend,” the guy lies, sounding annoyed, but his voice is a little unsteady, too. “And who are you?” Maverick shakes his head and turns away from the guy, flinging his arm around me. “I’m her boyfriend.” I feel a flush of pleasure at his words, even though I don’t think they’re actually true. But I let him steer me out of the house and he doesn’t bother closing the door after us.
“You’re eating all the food in my damn house.” I feel myself flushing, but he tips my chin up, noticing. “I don’t care, Ella,” he says, like he really doesn’t. “As long as I can eat you in my house, too.”
This is how it was before. How it still is with my mother. This is what I was looking for an escape from, in Shane. Someone to calm me. Soothe me. Fucking save me from myself; from that empty pit of self-loathing.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Maverick asks, and I know exactly what he’s talking about. “Just wait until she comes.”
“Who are you coming for?” he asks me, thrusting harder. “Who do you belong to?” “You,” I gasp, “you—” “What’s my fucking name?” “Maverick.” I say it over and over again. “Maverick, Maverick, Maverick.”
“If we’re gonna keep talking about this, we need to eat first, so I can be sure to puke my guts out at the thought of anyone else ever touching you like I do again.” She laughs, and I kiss her nose.
“No one is putting cuffs on you, baby. No one but me.”
But bodies are easy. It seems hearts are far more complicated.
“Maverick I…” She bites her lip. “I think I love you.” I close my eyes, lay my head against her stomach. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to hear that. This isn’t that. This is not love. This is…wrong. This is toxic. Fun for now, but in the long run, it’ll be fucking terrible for the both of us. No. I keep my eyes closed, listening to her breathing. Waiting for my response. “You don’t, baby. You don’t love me.”
And when he cuffs me to his bed, both wrists to the poles of the headboard, I think we’re going to play a game. I think I wished he’d let me shower first, but I guess he’s not feeling so merciful.
“You can scream if you want,” he tells me with a wicked smirk on his face, “but no one is going to save you, Ella.”
“You’re not going to leave here until I tell you that you can leave, Ella.” He tugs at my bottom lip with his teeth and I close my eyes. He laughs against my face. “Because tonight, I want to remind you who you belong to.” There’s a promise in his words that makes me feel sick, but I don’t say a word. I just wait for his punishment.
That cruelty. That fucking chaos. It makes her feel like someone cares. Cares enough to hurt her. To make her learn a lesson. To want to teach her, like I do, even if it’s with violent hands. Gods do that sometimes. They bring a lesson from the pain.
But I know better than most that getting broken means you get put back together. Sometimes stronger.
“Hate me. Hurt me. Heal me,” he says again. “Well, come on, baby. Play God with me.”
“I own you, Ella. I’ll tell you what to do for the rest of your life, and guess what?”
“You’ll tell me, too.” He brings his lips to my mouth and kisses me without letting me breathe. “You’ll tell me,” he says again against my mouth, “and if I ever fuck up again, you can sink that knife straight through my heart, but you’re not going anywhere because after I tell you all my secrets,” his mouth covers mine again and I feel myself sliding against the wall, my fingers numb, the oxygen leaving my brain, “you forfeit the ability to leave me, Ella. If you tried, I’d kill you first.”
“It’s okay to want to be loved, Ella.” He reaches out a hand and brushes a lock of hair from my face. I remember he has blood on his skin but I can’t move. I can’t speak, even as he cups my chin. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing wrong with that.”
He leans down, brushes his lips against mine. “It’s okay, baby,” he assures me, and my heart swells and I think it might crack. I think he might break it and I think... I think... “I want it, too. But I’ve been with women. I’ve chased the high. I still do. I was still looking. Until you.”
“Until you came along and wrecked my whole world under a stupidly beautiful moon. I was so angry and you were so willing and...” He swallows, averting his eyes but not letting go of me. “And I was terrified.”
“I was so scared and I felt like a kid again.” He meets my gaze, running his thumb back and forth over my cheek. “I felt like a stupid kid because love isn’t real and it doesn’t happen that fast and the people I love... I always hurt them.”
“I’m a terrible person.” He finally looks at me again. “I’m a terrible person and I’ve done terrible things and I’ll keep doing them, Ella.” No. He reaches for me again, his hand on the back of my neck. His eyes are pleading, but he hasn’t asked for anything. I hold my breath, hoping he does. “But I want you. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I’ve kept so many things from you, but I was only trying to protect you. And with Chelsea, and everything…”
“You were right. I was trying to make you leave.” He swallows, steps closer, pressing his forehead to mine. “But this week has been shitty and there haven’t been any cookies and…”
“And there hasn’t been anyone else. And there won’t be. Not again. Not if you…not if you want to try this again.”
“You’ll tell me everything?” He nods, eyes still closed. “Yes.” “And you’ll trust me?” He nods again. “I won’t hurt you, Mavy,” I whisper, pressing my head against his chest. “I won’t hurt you with your secrets.” I sag against him as he wraps both arms around me. “You never hurt me with mine. You’re safe, you know?” I realize I’m talking to myself, too. “We’re safe.” He kisses the top of my head. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “And as long as you don’t run off with another man again, everyone else is safe from me, too.”
“I’m so sorry, Ella. But I’m gonna grow the fuck up, okay? I’m gonna grow up, and I’m taking you with me, kid.”
I don’t wanna go anywhere you’re not going, even if you take me straight to hell.
“You treat every girl you fuck like a little whore?”
“Yeah, but it’s different.” I trail a finger down over his arm, over his tattoos. “How so?” “I never want them again.” He buries his face in my neck, kissing and sucking me. I close my eyes and arch my back. “But you… Ella... I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”
“Every hole in your body is mine, Ella,” he whispers, kissing the side of my neck. “Every inch of you.”
My head is tipped up, hair down my back, and in this moment, with my eyes closed, him inside of me, his hand claiming my throat, I feel loved. And I know, even in the moment, it’s the most twisted sort of love. The kind my mom, if she gave a damn, if she had been someone else, someone that cared, it would be the kind of love she warned me against. If my father was out there somewhere, he’d be disgusted. But I don’t care. It’s mine. And whether Maverick says it or not, whether he admits it, I know he feels something for me.
“You’ll be a good dad,” I offer. I think that’s true. Probably overbearing and overprotective, but I know that as many screws as he may have loose—like we all do—he’ll be better than our fathers. He’ll do things differently. He’ll love with his whole heart, and he won’t force them to choose between love and duty. He won’t let them get girls entangled in a game that could cost them their lives. And if it is a girl, he’ll never push her away. He’ll be good. Better, at least, and that’s a start. “I doubt it,” he says indifferently. “But she’ll make up for it. She’ll be perfect. She is perfect.”
“Do you like her?” “Yes.” “You love her?” “I’ve known her five weeks.” “I fell in love with Sid in two minutes.” I laugh, running my hand over my head. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, bro.” I roll my eyes, turning my head to gaze out the windshield. “It’s called lust.” “I married her, didn’t I? Over a year after I first met her.” “You two spent a lot of time apart. It was like falling in lust all over again.” “I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything in my fucking life, and if that doesn’t count for shit, well, it’s the best I can do.”
