Page 92 of Scream For Me
That apartment doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It has my things, but it’s no longer my home.
I rub my palms against my jeans as they grow slick with sweat. This will be my first time back to the apartment since… since I nearly died by my own hand. My knee bounces up and down restlessly as we get closer. Elias rests his hand on my knee, his touch grounding me.
The city moves past us in a blur, people walking the sidewalks like it’s just another normal day. Normal life keeps going. It always does. He turns the steering wheel with one palm as we approach my street. As my building looms in the distance, my blood turns to ice in my veins.
My fucking door is open.
As we approach closer, I can see the splinter of wood around the lock. Elias had told me they’d replaced the door after he kicked it in the other day, so I know this isn’t them. It’s been kicked in again. Hard. My stomach drops straight into the footwell of the car.
“Elias…” I whisper, my voice shaky as we pull to a stop outside.
“Stay here,” he instructs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and giving it to me. “Call Gareth. Tell him and Cain to get here now.”
“Elias, I—”
“Kat.” His voice sharpens. “I nearly lost you once in this apartment already. I can’t do it again. Stay. In. The. Car.”
It’s like a cloud of red mist falls over his face. I’m no longer looking at Elias. I’m looking at the leader of the Circle. He pulls his pistol out of his jacket holster as he climbs out of the car and approaches the wrecked door.
I dial Gareth, though my hands are shaking so violently it takes twice as much concentration to press the dial button.
“Boss?”
“It’s Kat,” I say, my breathing coming hard and fast now. “Something’s wrong. Can you get Cain and come to my apartment? Please,” I rush out quickly before hanging up.
My hand opens the car door before I know what’s happening. I pull myself out of the seat and run up the pathway towards Elias. Towards the unknown.
I push the door open and fall to my knees. Silent sobs wrack my body as I look at my home. Every cupboard in the kitchen is open; its contents smashed on the floor. Thousands of pieces of glass and ceramic sprawl across the room. In the living room, the sofa where I poured my heart out to Harper now lies on its side, the legs broken off and in splinters. My TV lies smashed on the floor—the same TV I spent months of saving tips from The Ground to buy. Even the cushions have been slashed open, white stuffing spilling out across the floor like snow.
I manage to steady myself and walk towards the bedroom. I’m vaguely aware of Elias protesting somewhere in the room, but I ignore him. My steps are heavy as I walk the hallway towards the bedroom door. It’s half open. I take a breath as I walk inside.
Every piece of me that’s in this apartment is now gone. I drop to my knees on top of my shattered records, the larger shards cracking beneath me. I hold the broken pieces ofThe Number of the Beastin my hands. I remember the day I boughtit—it was the first record I bought at Steve’s Spinners. The first time I had enough money to go into a store and buy one. I listened to it three times over the first night that I owned it, and now it’s nothing but black shards in my hands. Silent tears fall down my cheeks.
Nothing was taken, but everything is gone.
I stand and walk over to my guitar, smashed in the corner of the room. The neck is snapped clean in half, the body splintered down the middle. Someone has smashed this on the floor, over and over again. I run my fingers along the broken neck, a sharp string catching the end of my finger, causing a bead of crimson to form. I see my songbook tucked under the edge of my mattress and pick it up, carefully flicking through the pages. This is the only thing untouched. Every page is still in place. The little book with my darkest thoughts turned into music. They destroyed everything, but they left this. On purpose.
Elias grips my upper arm, hard.
“You don’t need to see this, Kat.”
Blood rushes in my ears and my heartbeat turns deafening. My hands clench around my songbook, the lingering pain in my wrist only fueling my rage.
“Take me home, Elias,” I say, turning towards the door, shards of records turning to dust under my boots as I leave the wreckage.
As we leave the apartment and everything I own, my vision narrows and a lump forms in my throat. I’m silent all the way home, Elias constantly checking on me. There’s only one thing I want to say, but it can’t happen here.
When we arrive back home, I gently tuck the songbook into my jacket pocket. The door clicks shut behind us. Eliaslingers behind me for a moment, carefully watching me. I move to make my way to our bedroom. I take the stairs slowly, one at a time. My legs feel heavy. The weight I’ve been carrying for the past year is finally catching up to my body. Every step creaks softly beneath my feet, as though they can feel the weight of the words loaded in my throat.
“Kat.”
I ignore him and keep climbing. I reach the landing and rest my hand on the rail for a moment. His footsteps fall quiet behind me.
“Kat, please.”
I open our bedroom door. The room is dim. The curtains are still half-drawn from this morning. The bed is exactly how I left it—sheets slightly twisted with one pillow half on the floor.
Elias waits in the doorway, and I shrug off my jacket, holding it in my hands as I lower myself onto the bed. My hands are steady.
