Page 103 of Twisted Heathens
Phoenix rubs my wet folds again, gathering moisture and transferring it to my ass. I hear him lubricating his length before it presses against the tight muscle, gradually entering inch by inch. Eli swallows my screams with his invasive tongue, allowing me a sliver of air.
“You’re fucking ours.”
Phoenix hisses as he pounds into me, his speed picking up. I can feel him spiralling, movements growing wild as he repeats the declaration like a prayer. “You’re all fucking ours.”
Eli releases my throat and skates his nails down my arm, fingers pressing against the healing cigarette burns that he inflicted. My climax slams through me with that burst of pain, pushing me straight over the edge and plummeting down. I swear I hear him whisper something, sounding a lot like ours.
Phoenix bruises my hips with his grip and soon comes undone, spilling into me with a roar. His body slumps on top of me, and I fall forwards, straight into Eli’s open arms. We all collapse into a tangled, gasping dog pile, barely fitting on one bean bag together.
“Next time, I’m gonna tie you up and we’ll both fuck your sweet little pussy,” Phoenix whispers in my ear, nibbling on the lobe. “How’d you like that? Both of us inside of you?”
If I’m still alive then.
“Sure,” I reply instead. “Although next time I might pick truth, you never know.”
He snorts, managing to get to his feet and offering me a hand. We traipse to the bathroom and rinse off separately, removing all traces of the sordid affair that just occurred. I steal a shirt from Phoenix’s wardrobe and slip it over my naked body, foregoing any panties or bra. The bed is calling me, where Eli’s already burrowed beneath the covers, arms open and waiting for me.
The three of us cosy up together, stretching the mattress to maximum occupancy. Phoenix flicks a movie on and throws an arm around us both, his fingers teasing Eli’s curls. It’s seconds before the silent member of our group falls asleep, seemingly succumbing to his exhaustion.
“Phoenix?”
“Yeah, baby?”
I glance down at the peaceful look on Eli’s sleeping face, where he usually looks so tortured by the world. “What’s going on with him?”
Phoenix gets comfy and draws the blanket tighter over us, his strong legs entangling with mine. “You can’t say anything, but I heard his papa is sick. Terminal cancer.”
“Shit, that’s awful.”
Eyebrows raised, Phoenix slowly shakes his head. “No, it’s not. Who do you think gave him those burns? The man is a child abuser and religious nutcase. He’s dying in prison as we speak, reckon he has days at best.”
I softly stroke Eli’s shoulder, reassuring myself with the soft rise and fall of his chest. “His father did it?”
“When he was eight. Locked him in the sin closet and set the damn thing on fire. Apparently he thought Eli was possessed by a demon and used to beat him whenever he spoke. Eventually he stopped, and hasn’t said a word since.”
Bile rises in my throat and my fingers twitch with the need to hit something, I’m so furious. He literally beat the voice out of Eli, it’s sick. I’m disgusted, utterly heartbroken on Eli’s behalf. He was just a kid and they stole his tongue, before trying to steal the rest of him too.
“He was convicted?”
“Yeah. Child abuse, false imprisonment and attempted murder. Eli survived, obviously. Spent years in and out of hospitals before he was eventually sectioned. Kade says there were at least five attempts on his file, possibly more. He hasn’t been free since.”
I hug Eli’s body even tighter, furious tears filling my eyes. No point even denying how I feel, just the thought of everything he’s been through devastates me. No wonder he doesn’t speak or function normally, dependent on self-harm.
He burned me… just like he was burned.
We lapse into silence, the TV playing to itself. I doubt either of us are watching. I’m drowning in guilt because this time next week, I have no intention of being here. One way or another, I’ll be leaving these beautifully broken souls behind. That’s the deal I made with the devil in my head. A bargain with the darkness that whispers endlessly.
You’re not allowed to live. Even if it kills them.
Even if they want to follow you to hell.
Thirty-Four
Hudson
Waiting Game by BANKS
I scrape my thick, unruly hair away from my forehead, staring at my tired eyes in the mirror. They are lined with bags and more burdens than I care to admit. My gaze flickers back to the bed, sheets rumpled and messy. It looked a hell of a lot better with Brooklyn in it last week.
