Key to Hell (Hell Night Series Book 4), page 17
She hiccups out a sob. I grip the key and squeeze it until I feel the sharp pain of it piercing my palm.
“One of the times I woke up in Dr. Manor’s office, my legs were raised and spread open. He and one of his nurses were… down there, looking at me. I felt something move inside me down there and a moment later, there was a sharp pain. I remember trying to scream, but I couldn’t. It hurt so bad, but I couldn’t move or cry out. I couldn’t make them stop.”
“Motherfuckin’ hell,” Trouble mutters. “It sounds like a dilation and curettage to remove any of the fetus or placenta that didn’t pass through. Those bastards should have given you anesthesia.”
“It was two months after that that I started my period. It was really bad. A few months later, Gabriela and Marco brought a doctor in. He said my uterus was damaged during the procedure, that Dr. Manor was too rough when he scraped the lining, which caused my heavy and painful periods. My uterus is riddled with scars because of it.”
She turns quiet. I kill Dr. Manor over and over in my head in every painful way my mind can conjure up. He was one of the ones who was sent to prison. He died there seven years ago from a heart attack. I want to dig up his bones, piss on them, and set them on fire.
“Because of the damage, my body is ruined. I can’t have kids.”
A pained growl rumbles in my chest. My body starts to shake. It shakes so much my teeth begin to rattle. So many emotions slam into me. Rage and loathing at every single person who’s hurt Rella. Revulsion and hatred at myself for my part in it all. Pain and anguish for Rella for everything she’s been through.
“Please, Aziah,” she chokes. “Turn around and look at me.”
I can’t. At eight years old, I was forced to take her virginity. For years, I was forced to use my body to inflict pain on hers. I was never able to stop my father. When she needed me the most, the day she decided to end her life, I wasn’t there to protect her, to pull her back from her dark thoughts. She was alone in that gazebo, not only losing her own life, but the life of the child I put in her. I didn’t listen to my gut when it said she wasn’t dead. I didn’t look for her when she was taken from Sweet Haven. She was abused every day for fourteen years because of that. Because of my inability to save her, she lost something precious: the chance to become a mother one day.
I look over at Trouble, seeing his own eyes filled with agony for his sister. I never understood why he doesn’t hate me. How he can call me brother after everything I’ve done. It doesn’t matter. I have enough hatred for the both of us.
“Take care of her,” I tell him gravely.
“Emo, wait,” he calls, but I’m already walking out the door.
“Aziah!” Rella cries, the heartache and desperation in her voice slashing through my heart.
I’ve never been able to deny her anything, but this time, I keep walking. I walk out of the building, my body vibrating with pent-up rage. I pull the key out of my pocket, blood already dripping from my hand, leaving little drops on the sidewalk. I don’t stop until I’m at home with the door closed behind me. My home, not Trouble’s. I don’t belong there. I don’t belong around Rella.
My eyes move to the hallway, and my feet are moving before I know it. I stop in front of the basement door, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches as I twist my head back and forth. Cracking resounds in the quiet house. Everything I love to hate is down there. My demons, and all of my sins. I crave to walk down the steps and indulge in the darkness that always comes when I’m in the basement. But so much fucking pain comes with it. I’m afraid if I give in to my need, I won’t stop until it’s too late. I’m not ready for it to be over with yet.
Rearing back, I use the hand still gripping the key and punch the fuck out of the wall. Pieces of drywall rain to the floor when I pull my hand from the wall, leaving behind splatters of blood.
Striding to the bathroom, I grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol and go to my bedroom. I slide down the wall, uncap the bottle, and set it beside me. I open my hand and look down. The key is embedded into my flesh. I pluck it out, set it on my thigh, and glare at my palm. Blood trickles from the wound, and I scrub it against my jeans to get rid of some of it. Grabbing the bottle of alcohol, I tip it over my palm, relishing the burning sensation when it hits the open gash. I’m not doing it to keep it from getting infected; I don’t care if my hand rots the fuck off. I do it because it adds to the pain, and that’s something I need more of right now. There’s no amount of pain I could ever inflict on myself that would even come close to what Rella’s been through, but I’ll damn sure try.
Grabbing the key, I move it to my forearm. I ball my hand into a tight fist and dig the key into the muscle. A straight line down about two inches long. Blood immediately begins to roll down my arm and drips off my elbow. I slice another line beside the first. Both are jagged from the teeth of the key. I dig one more line into my arm before grabbing up the alcohol again. It burns like a bitch but feels so goddamn good at the same time.
I thump my head back against the wall and close my eyes. Flashes of my and Rella’s time in the Hall comes back to me, tormenting me. The pain in her eyes. The tears. The fear. Her begging my father the first few times. And the acceptance afterwards when she knew her pleas weren’t going to help.
People claim God is perfect. That his perfect plan was to make imperfect people. How in the fuck can perfection be someone like my father? Why in the hell would he create something so evil and vile? Why would he put an innocent person through the horrors Rella has endured?
Opening my eyes, I use the key on my other arm, jaggedly slashing several lines. I go deep, uncaring I’m bordering on going too far. I bleed and I bleed some more, the pain still not enough.
It never will be.
I DON’T KNOW HOW LONGI sit on the floor, but when I hear someone opening my front door, it’s dark outside. The lights are off in my room, so I’m sitting in the dark and have no idea how much blood is soaking the carpet under me.
“Aziah!” Trouble calls out, but I ignore him.
A moment later, a bright light floods the room behind my closed eyelids.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Emo,” he growls. I hear him stalking over to me. “What in the fuck have you done?”
I open my eyes and look down at the damage. My arms are torn to shreds, and my jeans are soaked with blood.
“Go home, Trouble,” I say, devoid of any emotion.
“That’s not fuckin’ happening until I take care of your wounds, because I know you won’t do it yourself.”
I won’t. I don’t give a fuck if I bleed out on the floor.
“Get up,” he orders.
“Fuck off.”
“Fine.”
He turns and goes to the bathroom, coming out a moment later with the first aid kit. He drops to his knees beside me.
“Do you have any fuckin’ clue how much it would devastate Rella if anything happened to you?” he asks, pulling shit from the kit and setting it on the floor.
“She’d be better off, and we both know it.”
“Like fuck she would. She’s been through enough in her life. Losing you would destroy her.”
“She’s been through what she has because of me,” I snarl, pissed that he’s still denying the obvious.
“You are a stubborn son of a bitch, Emo. How many fuckin’ times do you have to be told none of it was your fault?” He grabs the bottle of alcohol sitting on the floor and realizes it’s empty. He tosses it to the side and picks up the peroxide instead. “Tell me, what in the hell could you have done to stop your father?”
“Fought him harder. Killed him,” I answer.
“Goddammit, Emo. These need stitches.”
“No, just put the fuckin’ bandage on them.”
I want to tell him to leave them alone, but I know he won’t. He’ll fight tooth and nail to care for my wounds, especially because of how bad they are.
“And do you really think that would have stopped Rella from being hurt? He would have made it much worse on you both. And besides, if you did manage to kill him, it would have been some other adult hurting her.” He smears ointment on the gashes and starts sticking big bandages over them before working on my hands. “It was torture watching what happened to her every Hell Night. The only thing that helped was knowing she was with someone who cared about her. I knew you would do everything in your power to make it as painless as possible. I saw how much it hurt you too. You didn’t care what your father was doing to you. Your sole concern was her.”
I stay quiet as he finishes with the rest of my wounds. Once he’s done, he sits back on his heels.
“Come back to the house with me.”
“No,” I grunt.
“Rella wants to see you. She’s worried.”
“It’s better I stay here. She doesn’t need me near her.” I don’t give him a chance to protest. “How is she doing?”
He scoots to the side and leans back against the wall beside me. “I gave her some pain meds for the cramps. Dr. Manor did a fucking number on her uterus,” he says harshly. “I wish the bastard wasn’t dead so I could get my hands on him and cut his fuckin’ heart out.”
I’d do much more than that. I’d drag his death out for weeks.
“Is there a way to fix the damage?”
He sighs and props his arm on his raised knee. “If she’ll allow it, I want to examine her further, but I think the scarring is too extensive.”
I fist my freshly bandaged hand.
“You need to finish it, Emo,” he says quietly. I feel his eyes on me. “It’s the only way you’ll be able to move on.”
“No. Soon, but not yet.”
He lets out a deep breath and gets to his feet. “I need to get home. I wish you would come back with me.”
I grunt and lean my head back against the wall. “I can’t be around her right now, and she doesn’t need to be around me when I’m like this.”
He grabs the kit from the floor. “Leave the damn key in your pocket. You’ve done enough damage to yourself as it is. You almost went too far this time.”
I don’t say anything, because we both know that key is the only thing that gives me peace.
Halfway across the room, he turns back to me. “Do you want me to call Grace?”
“No, I’m done with her.”
The last thing I want to do is hurt Grace, and I know she’s getting too close. I’ve known for a while, but being the bastard that I am, I still held on to her because I needed what she could give me. It’s time I break the thread before she gets hurt even worse. Besides, the thought of being with her hasn’t felt right since Rella came to town. I can’t put my finger on it, but it feels wrong.
Relief flashes on Trouble’s face when he gives me a clipped nod.
“Take a couple of days to get your head straight, then I expect you at my place to show Rella you’re okay.”
I give him a brief nod, and he walks away. I’ll never have my head on straight. It’s a fucked-up jumble of mess in there with no hope of ever being normal.
I stay on the floor with my head tipped back toward the ceiling. I wish I still had Boo here. That little stuffed rabbit always gave me comfort. It was stupid, but having it near always made me feel like Rella was close by too. Even when I thought she was dead. Now I have nothing.
My nerves are all over the place because I haven’t been out of her presence since the day she arrived, except for when Trouble and I went to take care of Marco and Gabriela and when I retrieved Boo from my house. I hate not being near her, not being able to see her when I want to. It feels like I can’t pull in enough air. But it’s better this way. Lord fucking knows she doesn’t need her tormentor around her. I’ve done enough damage to her life; staying away will make sure I don’t do anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RELLA
The Past
I’M SO COLD MY BODY is shaking. Tears run from the corners of my eyes, getting my hair all wet. I’m scared and want to go home. I wish I could call for my mommy and daddy, but I know they won’t help me. They never do on these nights. They are off somewhere else in the room with another little kid, doing nasty and hurtful things to them.
My bottom lip trembles as I look down and see my best friend Aziah at the end of the table I’m lying on. His face looks all funny as he faces his dad. Mr. Masters has an evil grin on his face and it makes me even more scared. He leans down in Aziah’s face and whispers something, but I can’t hear it because of the moans and cries from the other adults and kids in the room.
Aziah turns to face me, and the angry look on his face from when he was talking to his dad changes to something else. He looks sad and like he’s in pain. He doesn’t look at my naked body, but instead keeps his eyes on my face.
Mr. Masters is behind Aziah, and he pushes him toward me with his chest against his back. I’m grabbed by my ankles and pulled down the table until my butt almost hangs off. I know what’s coming because it’s happened a lot of times before, but it still frightens me.
My legs are on the outside of Aziah’s hips, and I feel the soft material of his pants touch the inside of my thighs. I start to tremble even more and my teeth clack together.
The softness of Aziah’s pants is gone when Mr. Masters pulls them down. Now I feel the warmth of his skin. Aziah puts his hands on the table, right by my waist, and leans over me. His eyes look even blacker when he’s this close.
I don’t make any sounds, but I start to cry harder when Mr. Masters pushes Aziah’s body against mine. I try not to think about it. I try to look at Aziah and pretend like we’re in the gazebo playing a game, but as soon as Mr. Masters shoves Aziah forward, my imagination gets snatched from me by the pain.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but snap them back open when it makes the pain worse. I feel better when I can see Aziah’s eyes. He leans over further until his arms are lying flat on the table by my shoulders. He winces when his father does the same thing he’s forcing Aziah to do to me.
I reach up and wipe away his tear before it has a chance to drip on my chest. He’s hurting just as much as I am, and it makes my own pain so much worse. I hate what his father is making him do to me, but I hate more that he’s hurting Aziah.
There’s a sharp pain in my stomach when Mr. Masters moves faster, making Aziah move faster too. I try my best to be brave, because I know it really hurts Aziah when he knows I’m in pain. I don’t want him to hurt any more. I don’t want him to think he’s hurting me. It’s not him. It’s his father. He wouldn’t be doing this if his father didn’t make him. I know he tries to protect me, but his dad is so much bigger and stronger than him.
Mr. Masters starts making those weird and nasty noises. I can’t see him because Aziah’s blocking me, and I’m glad that I can’t. I don’t like looking at him. I want to look at Aziah instead, so that’s what I do. I keep my eyes open and so does he. Each time his father shoves him forward, I watch as his expression turns darker and darker.
My insides feel like there’re being jerked around, and I can’t hide the pain anymore. I cry out, my little hands balling into fists.
“I’m so sorry, Rella,” Aziah croaks, his face twisting. Tears fall from his eyes and land on my cheeks, mixing with my own tears.
I bite my lip and nod. “I know.”
He drops his head until his forehead meets mine. We both still keep our eyes open and on each other.
I wish I could soothe him and tell him I don’t blame him for what’s happening, but I hurt so much that I can’t talk. All I can do is lie there and wait for it to be over. It won’t be for a long time though.
Hell Night always goes on for hours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RELLA
IT’S BEEN A WEEK SINCE I told Aziah I was pregnant and then miscarried. Seven days since I’ve seen him. Every second of every day has been torture. I miss him terribly. I miss him more now than I did when I was taken away from Sweet Haven. Trouble says he’ll be fine, he just needs some time, but I still worry, because I know he’s blaming himself.
It hurt when he walked out of Trouble’s office without looking at me. I needed him to look at me. I needed that connection.
Twenty-four years ago, when I heard Dr. Manor saying I had miscarried, I didn’t know what he meant at first. Then he mentioned a baby and how my body expelled it. Those words tore my world apart. I was only ten and having a child that young would have been a horrifying experience, especially because of where we lived, but I still mourned the loss. I grieved for the tiny life that was a part of Aziah.
Using my upper arm, I wipe away the lingering tears on my cheeks. I’ve cried and slept a lot over the last few days. My nightmares are worse. It’s Trouble who’s been waking me up from them. I miss seeing Aziah’s face hovering over mine. He’s only lain with me three times, but I already miss his presence beside me. I miss waking up and finding him sitting in the chair a few feet away. I miss the comfort and safety I feel when he’s around. I miss his dark, bottomless eyes and the way he watches me. I miss everything about him.
I look down and shame slams into me at the blood on my thighs. I promised Aziah I would tell him the next time I felt the need to cut myself. I broke that promise. Partly to punish him for leaving me, and partly because I just didn’t want him to know I’d sunk so low again. I hate myself for giving in to the need, but seeing Aziah walk away when I wanted his strong comforting arms around me broke something inside of me.
I grab the bottle of peroxide and cotton balls from the floor beside me and clean the four two-inch wounds on my thighs. After, I get dressed in a pair of black jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt. Leaving my bedroom, I go downstairs in search of my brother. I find him in the kitchen with Remi.
“Hey,” Remi says with a smile. “I was just getting ready to come let you know dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, but I’m not really hungry right now. I’ll grab some leftovers later.”
“You need to eat more, Rella. You’ve lost weight recently,” Trouble says with concern.
