Page 66 of Made for Cyn
I can’t go through that shit. I’m a writhing mass of dirty feelings already, and I don’t know how Iris can speak so calmly about this when feral screams are trapped in my wheezing lungs as it is.
“What do we do?”
“We kill him,” she says, and the matter-of-fact tone inspires me to whip my head around and gasp. “I’m sorry, what?”
Her eyes turn fierce and she says with a brutal snarl, “We kill him. It’s the only way. No one is going to believe us, right? He’s a fine upstanding member of the community. Goes to church, he’s never had so much as a parking ticket, and he’s got my mother thinking I’m a party slut.”
Raising my brows, I don’t even get to open my mouth before she continues. “Yes, I know. I am a slut, but I wasn’t before. I figured if that was what he was going to create for me, I might as well live it. Besides, he hates it.”
I can’t even wrap my brain around the fact that we’re discussing this at all, and I shake my head to reset everything, but she’s still looking at me with murder in her fucking eyes.
“Um, I still don’t think killing him is the answer,” I say, clearing my throat. “I mean, we’re adults. Maybe we should just leave?”
“And go where? Besides, he’s already told me he’ll kill me if I go,” she says fiercely.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I clench my hands into fists until my palms throb. This guy isn’t messing around, and this is serious shit, but I’m not convinced murder is our only option.
Not that I have a better one, but what if he does kill Iris? What if he kills me? Shit.
Slowly, I nod my head because she’s so broken. I can see the tether she’s hanging onto by a thread, and maybe together we can figure out a better way, but in the meantime, if this gives her hope, I’ll play along.
Still, there’s far more to the story, judging by her desperation, and I’m simultaneously sick to my stomach with fear and boiling with rage that burns below my skin.
“Okay, do you, um, have a plan?” I ask thickly, focusing on the trees as I breathe in and out slowly.
“I did, but Rand ruined it. And then Bastion . . .”
“Rand? Bastion?”
“Yes, Rand was a stupid one. But I thought Bastion would do it, and I never got the chance. And now I’m stuck with Saul,” she says grimly.
“No, Iris, not Saul. He has no soul.”
“Neither does Cyn. You just can’t see it,” she says, casting me a frustrated look. “Maybe you should tell your boyfriend? He would probably do it.”
Shaking my head vehemently, I turn away, my face burning, and when she sighs, I say softly, “I’m not sending someone else to prison for something I should do. Besides, I don’t want to look into his eyes and see the disgust when he realizes I let my uncle spank me while he had a hard-on.”
Iris chuffs, which turns to a laugh, and soon I join, until we are laughing so hard, we’re crying, or at least we pretend that’s the reason as we sob into the universe and make plans to kill a man.
???
Last night, we dissected every possible way to kill John. Well, Iris did while I listened with a sick stomach. Today, we’re no closer to a solution, but she alludes to Saul and won’t tell me the particulars, leaving me uneasy.
I need to convince Iris to find another way despite her passion, because I don’t think going to prison for murder is a viable solution. I just don’t know what the correct answer is, but the thought he might actually kill her makes me icy cold. I still think she hasn’t told me the whole truth, and now I’m petrified to be at the house alone, but what can I do?
“I’m meeting Saul after school,” Iris murmurs, turning to me at the lunch table. “I know you don’t want to be around him. Do you want me to drop you somewhere?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t go alone,” I whisper, glancing around guiltily.
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Fine,” I say, ignoring the voice screaming in my head to not let her go. “Maybe at the bridge.”
Nodding, she turns away, presumably to text Saul, and Oscar meets my gaze over her head. He searches my miserable expression before sighing and turning away.
I’m still completely sore and out of sorts during gym, but the coach doesn’t care. She orders us to run drills and I stare with disbelief at the implements laid out surely for the sole purpose of torturing me.
Jig stands aloof off to the side and his complete indifference is like a kick to the gut. Why is he such a dick?
