What Did That Make Me?

                                        

                                              
CHAPTER: 28
*
Angel
I woke up with a terrible headache. It wasn't from alcohol, God knows I didn't drink enough last night to deserve this pounding in my skull.
No. This was something else because guilt anchored itself deep in my gut.
The images from the night before drifted into my mind in fractured flashes, the two women laughing, lips on my skin, tongue in my mouth, my hand in their hair.
I hadn't even gone through with sex. We made it as far as the alley, but once the first mouth was on me, I couldn't stop thinking about him, about the mouth that haunted me.
Try as I may, I couldn't stop thinking about him and so I stopped them before I came and walked away without a goodbye.
And still, I felt like shit.
I moved around my apartment like a ghost, half-dressed and barely functional. Every mirror I passed reflected a man who was exhausted and just passing through life like it was torture. Because it was.
By the time I finally reached the front door to grab the paper, the doorbell rang. It was a sharp clang against the silence of my shitty morning and it startled me more than it should have.
I pulled the door open, hoping for something to distract me from the way my mind was spiraling, but there was no one there.
All I saw was a small black box on the floor, right in front of my door and my breath caught.
I hoped it wasn't what I was thinking, and my hands trembled as I reached down for it.
It was just like that time when Max's finger had arrived, neatly boxed and clean like it hadn't belonged to a living, breathing person only hours before.
I closed the door and brought the box into the living room with hands that didn't feel like mine. My throat went dry as the air around me thinned.
I didn't want to open it. Every instinct screamed at me not to, but I did.
And it was exactly what I was thinking. Inside were two fingers, cleanly severed and wrapped in separate bloodied cloths. 
I unwrapped the clothes with shaky hands and noticed that one had a pink manicure, while the other was a black manicure.
"No," I whispered, stumbling back, the box dropping from my hands and crashing to the center table. 
Without doubt, they were the girls from last night.
"No, no, no. Fuck!"
I screamed and knocked the box to the ground, my eyes burning as I watched the contents scatter.
"It was just a fucking blowjob!" I shouted at the empty apartment. "I didn't even fuck them!"
I collapsed onto the couch, my knees giving out beneath me, burying my face in my hands as a broken groan slipped from my lips.
I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this.
Tears slipped out before I could stop them. Silent tears but hot and burning down my cheeks.
I stood up suddenly and rushed to the bathroom, and my stomach gave out the second I hit the toilet bowl. I threw up everything in my stomach as my body heaved violently.
When I was done, I rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face, and returned to the living room, still shaking.
That was when I saw it.
Inside the box, stuck between the folds of bloody cloth, was a single playing card. A king of hearts, soaked in red.
I flipped it over with a trembling hand and the words in the back made me tremble: You should never have touched them.
The handwriting was familiar, bold and precise. It was the same ink, the same flourish at the tail of the letters, the same person that had sent me Max's finger: Mask.
A thrill went through my spine as I realized that he had been watching me while I was with them. 
It was sickening, yes but at the same time, it was possessive and obsessive. I had thought that he had forgotten about me when he drove off a week ago, but it seemed like he was just biding his time, waiting for when to strike.
But then, I snapped back to reality. This was dangerous, even for me. And I realized something else that chilled me more than the sight of those goddamn fingers.
He had followed me.
I had been miles away from Ecstasy, from my usual haunts, from anywhere he should've been able to find me.
So how? How the hell did he still find me? It's hard to believe that he did nothing except following me around in his car, but how else could he have known? 
My blood ran cold for a second before it ran hot with rage.
He didn't own me. He didn't get to play God with my life.
Those women were innocent. I didn't even know their names for fuck's sake. And now they were dead because of me.
Because of him.
I shoved everything into a trash bag, sealed it, and stuffed it into the freezer. I'd deal with it later. 
Maybe I would take it to Cyrus and tell him the whole 온라인카지노게임. Or maybe I would just burn it myself and pretend none of this ever happened.
But I just couldn't deal with it now. 
Right now, I needed answers and the only way I was getting them was by finding Mask.
I got into my car with fire in my chest and murder in my eyes.
He thought he could toy with me?
He had no idea of what I was capable of. Right now. I was done playing.
But as I pulled out onto the highway, a small voice whispered, "Maybe you're the one who has no idea of what he is capable of."
And that, right there, doused the fire of rage burning in my chest. Because truthfully, I had no fucking clue of what he was capable of.
But one thing I was sure of was that he had not yet shown me a fraction of what he was capable of doing.
Pulling into the parking lot at the field office, I sat in my car for minutes, trying to shake off what had happened this morning. 
On the drive over, I had decided to get my car checked for trackers or bugs. And maybe my phone too.
My hand was still trembling lightly from fear. But the worst part of it was that I knew that if I were to encounter Mask right now, my body would give in to him again. 
What did that make me? Weak? Spineless? Or just a perverted faggot?



**
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