The Annihilator: Part 2 – Chapter 9

“Each time you happen to me all over again.”

—Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

SHE WAS GOING TO do it tonight.

She was going to end it.

It had taken her months to decide how, and she finally had a way that wouldn’t hurt much.

A song played in the back, the beats loud. She didn’t know the song, just moved her body in time with the beat on the stage, the leather chafing against her skin but still unable to wake her from her slumber. That’s how she felt, like she was sleeping, going through the motions, and one day, she would simply wake up and all of it would be a bad dream.

For months, she had been like that. Months of being confined to a room until her captors had realized she was useless, that whatever lure they believed she held she didn’t. She wasn’t leverage, just dead weight, and they finally relocated her again. Now, she danced on the stage at a club she didn’t know, and lived in one of the rooms above the the building alone.

But something had changed.

She was scared of being near people now.

Now, after being confined in one small, dark room for so long with nothing but herself, she was scared of being around people. Just being in the club had her sweating and shaking too much. Dancing was only possible if she closed her eyes and made herself believe she was alone. Song after song changed. People cheered and jeered from below, making her open her eyes, but she saw no one, just moving on autopilot, looking at the neon sign above the main door, focusing on it.

She didn’t disagree with that. Demons, every single one of them. And she was finally going to escape from this hell.

Her shift passed without incident, only her feet hurting, reminding her she was still in her body. A sheen of sweat marred her face, a face that looked haunted, the choppy haircut she had given it so many weeks ago making it more so. She hated her hair, her skin, her flesh, every single part of herself. Sometime in between, her indifference toward her body had shifted again into loathing. She had thought of cutting herself, but somehow, the pain still had the power to scare her.

Shaking off her thoughts, she got down from the stage at the end of her shift and headed to the backroom, breathing through her mouth to not let all the people around her overwhelm her, focusing on where her locker was with her change of clothes. She had something else there too.

Thankfully, without incident, she reached, opening the locker after she checked that the coast was clear. She looked at the small sachets of blue powder she had stolen from some of the tables over a few days. Four packets. The first time they had drugged her, they had used only one. She was going to use all of them and make herself high while her heart gave out.

A twinge of guilt moved through her, for the one soul she would leave behind, but she shook her head. She was not worth knowing. It was for the best.

Pocketing the bags, she shut the locker and moved through the sidelines of the lounge area, toward the fire exit that led up to the rooms.

She avoided looking at anyone, but glanced up occasionally to check if her path was clear.

“Hey, Lyla!”

Body freezing, she turned to see one of the servers hand her a tray full of drinks.

“Mindy sprained her ankle. Take this up to Table 4 in the VIP area.”

Fuck. Okay, she could do this.

Giving a nod, she balanced the tray in clammy hands and headed to the special section cordoned off for special guests, focusing on one step at a time, the sachets burning a hole in her shorts.

This club was more elite than all the others she’d been in, so it had a larger clientele that was top of the crème. Climbing the low steps lit by neon lights, she walked over to the fourth table from the back, her steps coming to a halt as she took in the group of men and women sitting at the table—three couples and one man, and not one of them looking like they fit in this part of the world. Well, no one except the giant man with an eye patch. He looked like he’d fit right in.

“You don’t get it!” one of the women, a brunette with glasses, exclaimed loudly, glaring at the man beside her who was looking down at the tablet she was showing him. “How can you not see this?”

Another woman, a beautiful modelesque stunner, just looked at them with visible amusement, sitting in the crook of an arm belonging to a well-dressed man in a suit. “Even I didn’t the first time. Not everyone has your eye for detail, Morana.”

Such a pretty name.

The eye-patch man sat opposite them, a woman with blue hair close to his side. ‘He sent it to me last week. He’s been after Hector harder than we have.’

‘I wonder why,’ the brunette with glasses mused out. ‘It’s the first time I’m sensing some kind of stakes in this for him.’

It was such an odd dynamic, one she had never seen before but immediately recognized. She felt a hollow pang go through her chest. Friends. Family. They looked like family together.

Silently putting the drinks on the table, skilled at going unnoticed, she moved around the table, keeping her head down.

“Thank you,” the beautiful woman said softly to her, but Lyla didn’t look up. Throat tight, she turned to leave, taking the kind word back with her, the image sticking in her mind of the group of friends sharing camaraderie. In another life, she could’ve been a girl with a group of friends enjoying drinks on a night. In another life, she could’ve been a woman tucked under the arm of a man who clearly cared for her. In another life. Maybe, if she had a next one, it would be kinder to her.

She rounded the corner of the VIP area, and out of their line of sight, turned around, glancing at them again.

It was a nice thing to see on the last night of her life.

Carrying the levity of witnessing their interactions in her heart, she dumped the tray on the counter and finally headed to her room, climbing the fire exit stairs to the first floor, her room the last on the landing.

Turning the knob, she entered and shut the door behind her, heading straight to the only furniture in the room—her tiny bed. It was so small that a taller woman would have a hard time sleeping on it straight.

Taking the packets of blue powder from her shorts, she placed them in her lap, staring at them. A bottle of water sat on the floor by her leg, and she uncapped it. Ripping the packet open, she dumped all the four sachets into the water and gave it a good shake with trembling hands.

Heart pounding, hands shaking worse with each second, she stared at the liquid.

This was it.

This was how it ended.

Taking a deep breath, she brought the bottle to her lips. And she tipped it up.

The bitter liquid went down her throat as she gulped, taking in as much as she could before her stomach felt full.

Bottle empty, she put it down and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

It was a nice ceiling, with fake ornamental designs around the fan, making it look pretty. Not like the many cracked, peeling ceilings she had looked at. It was a nice last ceiling. Why was she thinking of ceilings?

Tears streamed down the side of her face as she lay alone in the dark, the light from a street lamp outside casting shadows in the room, reminding her of him.

She let herself think of him for the first time in months. A nameless man who had changed her life for both the better, at least for a while, and then worse. A nameless man who had made her believe, in his own twisted way, that she was worth something, that her life mattered to someone, that she was cared for.

Was that why her heart bled so much? Because he had abandoned her, left her lost and adrift like everything else? Because he had made her care too, and she had paid the price for it? Because in all the months since he had not once come seeking her?

‘I’ll always come for you.’

Liar.

Had he found a new obsession, a new girl to kill for? Or had he simply gotten bored with their games once he had a taste of her? Had it been that, the fact that he’d had her in some way, the thrill of the chase gone?

For a moment, she wondered if it was because he was dead or injured, but knowing him, she couldn’t believe it for more than a second. The intensity of his obsession at its peak had made her believe he would have crawled to find her if he she were out of his sight. No, he was alive, and she was abandoned.

The first wave of heat hit her body, her skin beginning to pinch and tighten.

She closed her eyes, holding the sides of the bed and wave after wave of heat spiked to a fever in her system, her heart thumping so rapidly and loudly in her chest she couldn’t hear anything but the pounding in her ears.

The pounding came insistently, jolting her, her eyes flying to the door.

Someone was actually pounding on her door. What the hell?

“Hey Lyla, you got some concealer? This guy bruised me bad.”

It was one of the other girls on the landing. Lyla stayed still, deciding to ignore her. It wasn’t like she could get up anyway if she tried. It felt nice, just lying there as her body collapsed on itself.

The pounding faded away, the only noise in her ears of a whoosh, maybe her own blood. Her eyelids began to feel heavy, so she closed them, feeling like the earth was shaking underneath her.

No, it was shaking.

She was shaking.

Something was shaking her.

“Look at me!”

The loud, sharp command made her eyelids peel open to a slit, immediately locking with the devil’s gaze.

Death had come to take her, after all.

She smiled.

“Take me gently, death. I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered, her mind dizzy, her eyes closing again.

“Open your eyes, flamma.”

A low, guttural demand followed by a touch on her cheek had her eyes opening again. He checked her eyes, put his hand on her neck, then growled, “Fuck!”

She felt something pinch at the side of her neck but wrote it off. She had been thinking of him, and in her last moments, her brain was being kind to her. That was a saving grace. Her delusions were taking pity on her. She couldn’t really complain.

“You.” Her voice was barely audible, her body slumping as he picked her up in his arms. “Tell me… tell me where he is…”

“Live for me and I’ll tell you,” he bargained as always, tucking her body close to his torso. He was cold and warm at the same time, and so, so solid. She wished she’d had him to hold on so many nights.

Tears fell down her face, and she tucked her nose in his neck, breathing in his distinctive scent.

“Please. It’s my last wish,” she cried softly, and felt his arms tighten around her. The delusion-him was nice too, he almost made her believe he was concerned for her.

“You have many wishes left in you, flamma, and I will lay every single one of them at your feet. Just keep fucking breathing, got that?”

The dark, guttural notes of his voice hit her simultaneously with another wave of heat. She whimpered and buried herself closer to him, grateful to her mind for conjuring him up so she wouldn’t feel alone in her last moments.

They were moving at a rapid pace. Noises and sights blurred, and she felt her limbs get heavier and heavier, her heart suddenly slowing, making her head spin.

“Were you… with someone else?” she asked on a hiccup, voicing her worst fear, her fingers tightening over his jacket as he lay her down somewhere, strapping her with belts. What was her mind doing? Why was it making him strap her somewhere?

He finished pulling the belts tight so she couldn’t move and gripped her face, making her focus for one second on his devilish mismatched eyes.

“You have been, you are, and you will always be my only obsession, Luna Caine.”

She cried out at the fact that he took another girl’s name, a sharp pain piercing her heart, before everything went black.