Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
This is what I get for being cocky about it.
I thought he’d gone legit, gone soft.
I was so, so fucking wrong. As usual.
Kill Coulter is a fucking psycho.
Someone’s babysitting me these days, he’s hardly been here. The last beating I took from him, he took me out of the other cell and stuck me into this concrete box, left me in the dark for days or even weeks, warning that he was on his way to go pick her up so he could put a ring on her finger. He was gone a long time and then he was back for a day to play that video the first time. Since then, someone’s been throwing me down the dog food, the bottles of water. Playing the video on the wall down here with a projector or making me listen to the audio from their wedding. Been down here for weeks judging by the smell of me and the smell of my filth in the almost full bucket in the corner.
I can’t take much more of this. I think I lost my mind weeks ago. There’s only so much abuse a person can take. Only so much dark. So much fucking dog food and living in your own filth when you’ve got cuts, bruises, and can barely move because your kneecap has been blown to smithereens.
When he’s here and not kicking the shit out of me, fucking with the temperature either making me sweat or making me freeze, he’s doing brainfuck warfare shit with making me listen to her conversations, making me watch videos or slideshows.
Her sitting at her desk at her job, telling her friend how amazing her husband is.
Her in that swanky apartment, giggling while he touches her.
I feel around and find the can of dog food. This one has a tab on top; he usually throws them down to me without the top, meaning I get to scrape some off the cement before I dig in with my fingers for whatever remains. Unless it lands in my toilet bucket, which happened the other day and I went hungry and not for the first time. Can’t count how many times I’ve been left for days before he’d come or have someone else come in. I pull the tab and peel it back.
Instead of digging in with my fingers like usual, I rip the sharp edge of the can top across the inside of my wrist.
I laugh as my head falls back against the wall and warmth seeps out.
I’ve had enough of this shit. Only a matter of time before it ends.
I’m laughing and crying at the same time.
He told me I’d be sorry, and I am. I had moments in the other cell he had me in where I’ve pleaded, I’ve cried. I’ve begged him to end it with me. I know he won’t let me out of here alive and I think he’s gotta get bored of punishing me soon. Gotta get bored of flipping a coin and calling out what happens next if it’s heads or if it’s tails. Sick of making me play poker with him over and over.
I’ve told him how sorry I am for crossing him three years ago, but the truth is that I wasn’t sorry for having Violet. Not sorry for having love for the first time in my life. No, I’m not sorry that for once, I won something that actually mattered and made life good sometimes. Even if I did cheat to win it, even if in the end I did fuck it up. That’s not my fault I fuck things up. It’s because that’s all I know. What else happens when you grow up being told you’ll never amount to anything? That you’re worthless? I grew up with fuck ups and I grew up without love. I’ve got the shittiest luck… Nothing ever fucking goes right. If only my parents had been better, my life had been better I could’ve been better for her. I tried. I did. And yeah, I fucking failed.
But so did she. She promised me unconditional love. And the bitch lied. She doesn’t love me. She loves Kill and all his money.
My biggest mistake was walking up to him in the bar a few months back.
I should never have tried to again rub his nose in the fact that I won the girl that night and still had her. If I’d just walked away, things would’ve been so different. He wouldn’t have sent me to Atlantic City. She wouldn’t have gone with him to his place. Wouldn’t have eventually climbed on his cock like a cheating whore. I wouldn’t have been arrested. And fuck me… when I got out on bail I should’ve known to lay low. Or better yet, disappear. Didn’t matter, though, not really. Because I’m pretty sure he’s the one that made that happen. He got someone to get my ma to bail me out all while he was fucking my girl, planning to grab me and throw me in a trunk, drag me to this basement in the middle of nowhere by the ocean.