Carved in Bones by Morgana Darkins

Author:Morgana Darkins [Darkins, Morgana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

20. A dangerous thing to be

MADELINE

I’m going fucking crazy. I’ve lost my mind, and I need to snap out of it. I tiptoe through the house, hoping to cross paths with Khalian. The car pulled into the driveway ten minutes ago. I’ve spent the entire day trying to convince myself that I need to do this. Usually, I spend my day trying to think of ways to avoid him. Of ways to run, but even if I plan an escape route, I never go for it.

There’s a wall between whom I used to be and who I am now. A wall for which I fight every day to keep it standing. Everything I love and care about is beyond the wall, and I’ll find a way to go back there. This can’t be the new me. So fucking depressed, angry, guilty, with no energy for anything. I’ve mourned the period when everything was normal in my life. I’m done with it. There’s nothing normal in my life now. I’ve killed someone. I’m living in the house of my stalker, which hasn’t killed me yet. He allows me to speak with my mother and let me phone the university to let them know I’ve had a personal emergency and I need some time off. I’ve spoken with Elsie and some other friends. I might need to take the entire year off, but it’s not something I care about right now. He brought me all my books and notebooks, so I continue to study.

I stop in front of his room, hearing the water running in the distance, and I don’t bother knocking. He never does, so why would I? I’ve showered earlier and dressed in jeans and a jumper. The room is plunged in darkness, except for the light coming from under a door which has been left ajar. I follow the sound of water running. My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid he might hear it. What am I doing here? I should’ve gone to the entrance door, but I can’t stop myself.

He’s the only one that can give me what I need, no matter how crazy this sounds. The shower door is made of smoked glass, the frame black. I can’t see much through the steam; the dark glass and the water droplets splashed all over, but I can clearly distinguish his silhouette. I’m a creep, watching him washing his hair, turning around, tilting his head back. I’ve never seen so much of him, and now I’m invading his privacy. For whatever reason, I want him mad. Angry is better than the version which is giving me space I didn’t ask for, letting my mind wonder wherever the hell it pleases. Psychotic is better than this version of him who’s trying to do things right by me. It’s too late for that. He infected me. His disease is now running through my veins.

“Do you get off by watching me, little lamb?”

I bite my tongue, preventing a scream. I’m reminded

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