Page 134 of Graves

I cut off his tirade with a side kick to his head, sending him back to the floor.

I would’ve loved to beat him to a pulp, but that would only raise unnecessary questions in an autopsy. So I roll Jerry onto his back, straddle him, and place my hands around his throat.

I apply only light pressure and wait until he comes to.

He gasps in terror, his eyes flying open. “W-what the hell are you doing?” he chokes out.

“Did my mom ask the same thing?” I hiss. “When you were choking her?”

Jerry makes strangled sounds and grabs my forearms. He has no chance of pushing me off. My hands are like stone. No matter what happens, nothing will stop me from finishing what I came here to do.

The thought of how my mother must have felt lying on the floor while Jerry strangled her wipes away every last doubt and pang of conscience. All I see is this piece of shit staring up at me with wide eyes, writhing beneath me with the last of his strength, fighting for his life.

A feeling I haven’t felt in a long time flickers inside me. Joy. A morbid joy, because somewhere in my brain, I know what I’m doing is wrong. But watching Jerry squirm like a fish in my grip gives me such incredible satisfaction that I even loosen the pressure, letting him think he still has a chance.

“You… fucking… bastard… I’ll… kill you!” he forces out with great effort.

“Those your last words?” I’m not surprised at all and keep choking him. “You’re the fucking bastard,” I hiss, leaning closer. “And this is for my mom.”

I watch the life drain from Jerry’s eyes until they go dull.

I jolt awake with a gasp and shoot upright. Everything is bright and flooded with light, so I can’t see anything at first. But Jerry’s gaze is still crystal clear in front of me.

I will never forget it.

Never.

Only after my eyes adjust to the brightness does his face fade, and I find myself back in my old room.

Breathing hard, I wipe the cold sweat from my forehead and fall back onto the pillow. My pulse thuds like I just ran a marathon, and my breathing is ragged. I don’t know if I’m hot or cold—my body is going haywire.

“Never feel guilty for anything you do, whether it’s good or bad.”

That’s what my father taught me—or at least tried to.

But ever since I killed Jerry, something has been gnawing at me that I can’t shake. It feels like I’ve met another version of myself, one so alien and terrifying that I’ll do everything in my power to lock it away. This must be the monster inside me that Jerry managed to keep in check all those years.

I know that’s nonsense, but my mind and my spirit stopped agreeing on this a long time ago.

Pixie is sleeping beside me and doesn’t look like she wants to go out. Still, it’s probably better to get up and distract myself with something.

I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for my phone. It’s become an automatic habit I’ve been trying to break since the day before yesterday, because looking at the screen has been paralyzing since yesterday morning.

Aran called several times that same evening. Since my phone had been dead after the meeting with my brother at the warehouse, I only saw the missed calls the next morning. And as if that wasn’t enough, I also had unanswered calls and texts from my brother piling up.

I can’t. I can’t call back or text.

God… I haven’t even managed to read a single message yet!

I blame myself and feel ashamed. But above all, I’m afraid of being fooled by Luke again.

What buttons did he push that made me move back in with him so impulsively and of my own free will?

But I’ve got everything under control.

So far Luke hasn’t triggered any of my red flags.

The situation with Aran is far worse.