39. Cohen

39

COHEN

I couldn't tell you where the bottle had come from… just that it was empty. I watched it roll across the room, the black and white label hypnotizing as it completed its rotations before hitting the wall with an audible clinking of borosilicate glass. My back was propped up against something hard, maybe a chair or perhaps the floor. I didn't remember sliding down but knew I was now staring at a blurry ceiling.

Never had a problem holding my liquor. Sure as fuck didn't have an issue drinking it either. But tonight was different. Tonight I could feel the walls closing in on me, my rage only slightly dulled—lucky for everyone else my central nervous system was too suppressed to do fuck all about it.

Couldn't sleep. Because I knew if I did, I would dream about her. And the last thing I wanted right now was to see her face. It was also the only thing I wanted.

To see her, watch her, taste the air between us as she took her last fucking breath. Thing was, as much as I hated her, I didn't know how to live in a world without Emily in it. Couldn't imagine what it'd feel like to focus on anything other than my obsession.

But I couldn't forgive her either. Not for this. Not after what she'd taken from me. Stolen from me.

My future, my career, my unborn fucking child.

I'd kill her for it. Of that much, I'd decided. It was the how, the when, and the where that left me fantasizing. Picturing her face when she realized the type of man I'd become. Because of her.

I reached out an arm, the concrete flooring chilled against my heated skin, while hoping another bottle of something would magically appear. Didn't really matter what it was at this point. I'd drink rubbing alcohol if I happened to find any.

I closed my eye, opening it again when I felt the subtle drip, drip, drip of something wet on my face. I took a deep breath, sucking the distinct odor of vodka deep into my lungs.

"Ya looked thirsty." The fucker in a kid's Halloween mask was standing over me, a clear bottle in his hand as he tipped the contents onto my face. I reached up to tug the liquor out of his grip and he pulled it back. "Tut-tut-tut, ya want more, you're gonna have to lick it off the ground."

"You first," I grunted before kicking his feet out from under him.

He landed on his back with a thud and a low chuckle. "Oh, yeah, this is gonna be fun."

Didn't know what the ass clown was going on about. Just that my head was throbbing. My mouth dry and my mind plagued by images of her.

The fucker swiped the file outta my hand. I'd forgotten it was even there. His leg crossed over on a knee as he sprawled out on the concrete floor like a bored housewife at a day spa.

"Emily?" He hummed her name. Tasted it the same way I used to taste her. "So all this self-loathing is about some chick?"He threw his head back on a cackle as I pried the file from his bony fingers before he could flip to the first page."Didn't take ya for being pussy-whipped."

"Say it again," I ground out, swallowing the copper tang of blood in my mouth as I cracked my neck from side to side. "Give me a reason. Just one. To bash your skull into the ground."

"Couldn't see it before. But now it's obvious."

"Yeah? And what's that?" I didn't know what was wrong with this guy. Casper, Adrian called him—though it was apparent the fucker had a few screws loose.

"Word on the ward was you were some sort of quack. With the fucked-up hand and all, didn't make sense. But now it's clear as a silver spoon. It's the arrogance. You got that shit in spades."

"Fuck you."

"Now is that anyway to treat your new bunkmate?"

"What makes you think I want anything to do with a bunch of sociopaths in Scream masks?"

The fucker grinned, tugging his shirt over his head before tossing the rest of his Devil's Reject's costume onto the floor. "Ya know he can fix that shit, right?" When I raised a single eyebrow in question, he clarified, "Your hand. That face of yours is fucked. But he can give ya use of your hand. I've seen the crazy son of a bitch work wonders with nothing more than a pot of boiling water and a soldering iron."

I forced out an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, and I'm Mother fucking Teresa. Go sell your snake oil to someone who doesn't know first year anatomy."

"Suit yourself." He shrugged, twisting his body into a figure eight that looked physically impossible before jumping to his feet in one swift ripple of gelatinous bone.

Then he cracked his neck, the movement soundless as he stepped towards the door, one silent boot in front of the other. He paused with his palm clenched around the knob, the silhouette of his profile prominent in the dim lighting of the room.

"I thought the same thing… Had the rope strung up on the rafters. Shit ready to go. ?Cept a severed spinal cord kept me from being able to lift my ass high enough off the wheelchair to do any real damage."

I craned my head to one side, my narrowed gaze focusing on the medial facetectomy incision on the crazy fucker's L-4.