“Jesus, a fucking warning next time,” I spit, cringing as the tip of the blade digs into my skin.
“He’s not here, mamá, but I am. And I need you to stop wiggling.”
I huff, feeling warm liquid trailing down my back from the wound, and after several painful seconds, the metal pops out. He flicks the device onto my bed and then leans in, his breath brushing across the shell of my ear.
“Katerina Sanchez, she’s fifteen years old. I believe she’s with a groomer by the name of Lillian Berez. Last time I saw a picture of her was three months ago, and she was standing in front of a sunflower field.”
He releases me, and steps away while I turn to face him. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
He gives me a look that tells me he’ll figure out a way to haunt me if I don’t. Maybe he’ll come to Parsons and join the rest of the ghosts in my house.
“One of Rocco’s friends is sleeping on the couch. Be quiet, and it should be fine. He’s out cold from the drugs.”
“Okay,” I nod, feeling a burst of gratitude that I’ve no idea how the fuck to express. He’ll probably smack me if I try. Rio hates any type of appreciation as much as he does attention. And maybe that’s more because he hates himself.
“Tell your man to give me a head start, yeah?” he says, backing away.
I frown. “Run fast.”
Slowly, his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and his gaze drifts over me one last time as if committing me to memory.
“Bye, princesa.”
“Bye, Rio,” I whisper.
And then he leaves, his footsteps silent.
I don’t waste another second. I rush over to my dresser—which happens to be right by Sydney’s body—slipping and sliding in the blood coating my feet. I tear through the drawers and hastily pull on a long-sleeved shirt and then a sweatshirt. I grab a pair of socks next, round the bed, and start wiping the bottoms of my feet as best as I can on the thin blanket.
I pull my socks and shoes on next, grab my journal from the floorboard, and quietly make my way down the steps.
Fear has kept me in my bedroom at night. It prevented me from going down the steps and out the front door, knowing that there was going to be someone outside waiting for me.
It’s controlled me for over two months, kept me compliant, and now I no longer have that option. I’ve killed someone, and if I don’t leave, I’ll be next. No, I’ll be praying for it, but I know they wouldn’t let death embrace me so easily.
I snag a grocery bag under the sink, cringing every time it crinkles. Then, I find a few bottles of water in the cabinet and a box of granola bars. It’ll have to be enough. I can’t afford any more weight than that. Next, I slide open the drawer and grab two large knives for protection.
My plan is to make it to the tracks and then follow them out of here. Hopefully, I’ll find shelter in one of the trailers when I need to take a break. I’m anticipating that they’ll assume I took the road and focus their search party in that direction when they find me missing.
They see me as a diamond because I have Zade’s love, but they fail to remember that’s what forged me into a stone so unbreakable. He’s taught me a lot about myself and who I really am. But most importantly, he’s taught me how to persevere.
Just as I’m leaving the kitchen, I hear a loud snore, and I pause, my heart picking up speed. Rocco’s friends tend to stay the night when they get too fucked up, and I imagine it’d take a stampede of elephants to wake them. But I can’t be too sure—it just depends on the amount of drugs that are running through their systems.
Peeking around past the entryway, I see a grungy man laid out on the couch, mouth half-open. It’s Jerry. He’s one of the regulars here and also one of the more vindictive ones when Sydney and I receive punishments.
There’s a small part of me tempted to walk over and stab one of my knives into his throat, yet I can’t bring myself to do it. Despite how badly I want to murder every single person in this house, I’m not a ruthless killer like Zade.
At least, I didn’t use to be. I guess I’m not so sure anymore.
Heart in my throat, I slowly and silently make my way towards the door, jumping when one of his snores is particularly loud and obnoxious.
I’m halfway through the room when I hear my plastic bag give out, and one of the water bottles breaks right through, loudly smacking off the floor and rolling several feet.
Just barely, I bite back a gasp, trapping it on the tip of my tongue right alongside my erratic heartbeat. My wide eyes snap to Jerry. His snores have cut off, but he appears to be sleeping still.