Page 68 of Made for Cyn
She observes me for a minute before dropping to the bed and saying with a frown, “We need a plan.”
“What does Saul say?”
“He’s willing to do it. He doesn’t care, but it’s what he wants in return,” she mutters, waving her hand dismissively.
“What?” I whisper.
“Me.”
“I thought—“
“He wants me to be his little slave, for how long I don’t know. I was hesitant, but whatever, it’s worth it.”
“No, Iris—“
“Don’t you see,” she says with a sparkle in her eyes, “anything is worth it. Anything for that cocksucker to die. And it’s not going to be an easy death. No, he’s going to fucking wish he had never been born when it’s over.”
“Okay,” I say softly. “What can I do?”
She hesitates, looking me over speculatively, and my stomach sinks. But in this, I’m resolved. If I never have to look at John’s face again, it will be too soon.
My body aches from top to bottom, and frankly, the only thing that got me through the whole ordeal was going away into my head and pretending it was my first time with Cyn.
John didn’t rape me, but I’m afraid that’s coming if I don’t find a way out of this, and to be clear, even if I told my parents now, it’s too late. John deserves to be six feet underground.
She grimaces and says, “Saul’s taken a liking to you.”
“Which means what?”
“He wants you, too.”
Laughing bitterly, I say, “You want me to fuck some dude against my will to kill another for the same reason?”
“Hey, at least Saul is asking,” she says sullenly.
“There has to be a better way. Can’t we just poison him or something?”
“No, the first person they’ll look at is me. Or my mom. No, it has to be someone else. Maybe if the fucker just disappears, no one will ask any questions.”
“How long?”
“How long—what?”
“How long with Saul? Once?”
I can’t believe I’m even considering it, but some pain is too deep for rational thought. Besides, John’s called to my animal, and she’s backed into a corner and raring to defend herself.
“I don’t know, but I can find out.”
Nodding, I turn my head away as silent tears escape my eyes, and after a moment, she crawls into the bed beside me and wraps me up from behind, saying softly, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I whisper.
Chapter Twelve
The next few days, I exist in a haze of pain that keeps me from feeling the shit around me. Cyn’s with some chick—who cares? Jig’s being cruel—okay. I just don’t care, and it’s with an extreme amount of fatigue that I sit down at the lunch table on Friday and rest my head in my hand.
Sleep eludes me because I’m terrified John will come in while I’m vulnerable. For all I know, he has a damn key to the door, so I get some here and there before I jump awake with a gasp. After, I lay back down and try to sleep, but my heart pounds so hard, I can’t relax, and I stare at nothing for hours instead. This is the only good thing about detention. The teacher doesn’t care if I sleep, and I’m too fucking exhausted to keep my eyes open.
