Page 32 of Ballistic

I slammed the heel of my hand against my temple. “No, no. Stop. Don’t.” My quiet mutter echoed, and I gripped the edge of the sink, lifting my gaze to a glare staring back at me, one I’d become all too familiar with, brimming with resentment and anger. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”

“That’s right, fuck me,” Vinco’s whisper echoed inside my head. “You love this shit, Nicoleta.”

I struck out at the mirror, slamming my knuckles into the glass. Fire blazed across my fist, and the impact knocked the soap dish into the sink, rousing a loud clatter.

In seconds, my pain and thoughts were interrupted by the pounding at the door.

The knob rattled. “Hey! What’s going on in there?”

Cradling my hand, I swallowed back the tears. “I … I’m fine! Just knocked over the soap dish.”

“Sure you’re okay?”

“Positive. I’m jumping in now!”

At the chasing silence, I closed my eyes and took three deep breaths. I didn’t bother to look at myself while I unclothed and set Dax’s shirt and sweats onto the countertop.

Flipping on the shower, I waited until the hot steam rolled over the yellowing curtain, then stepped into the mildew-lined basin. I marshaled my thoughts away from the memories of an abrasive brush scouring my skin while an older woman washed my body, barking commands in another language. I forced myself not to remember the ice cold water and the scent of bleach and vanilla wash. I’d never buy vanilla-scented anything again.

Every basic function of my life had become a movie reel of someone else’s. Someone I was desperate to forget.

I washed and dried quickly, so as not to let another visual consume my headspace, and dressed in Dax’s clothes once more.

The rumble in my stomach told me I wouldn’t last too much longer before the hunger swallowed me. I’d burned off the broth from earlier, and was running on fumes, growing weaker and increasingly tired by the minute.

I opened the door on Dax, who pushed off the bed, nabbing the bag of guns from beneath.

He wordlessly slipped past me, and with the click of the lock, I was certain he didn’t trust me. Seconds later, the sound of running water bled through the door, and I stumbled toward my designated bed, falling onto the stiff mattress.

At a count of ten, I fell into blackness.

* * *

The smell of something delicious—greasy, fried and filling—tugged at my stomach, stamping out the musty odor beneath me. I blinked slowly awake, the soft blur of sleep taking up half my vision, while the other half zeroed in on Dax sprawled out on his bed with a picnic of food all around him. A half-dozen burgers piled on top of a white bag, three cartons of fries, onion rings, and napkins scattered about.

“Didn’t want to you wake you.” Eyes on me, he chomped down on his burger, the sight of it teasing my empty belly. “C’mon and eat something,” he said around a mouthful of food.

I dragged my head up from the bed, the dizziness of before still swirling around my brain.

Deep chestnut eyes tracked me, as I took a seat on the foot of his bed, and he threw me one of the burgers from the stack, which I haphazardly caught before it could hit the mattress. “You look like you’re about to keel over.” From the nightstand between the beds, he nabbed the pill bottle there and dumped one of pills into his palm, offering it to me along with a white Styrofoam cup.

I popped the pill and washed it down with what tasted like Coke, relieved for the sugar and fizz that went straight to my stomach. Only took seconds to tear open the burger, which I proceeded to polish off in a matter of a couple minutes, moaning around every bite. The fries took comparatively longer, and by the time it was over, the incessant growl in my stomach had finally ceased.

Dax offered another burger, which I declined, instead sucking down the soda. “Feel better?”

I did, but only momentarily, until the urge to vomit shot acids up my throat. Leaping off the bed, I raced across the room into the bathroom, just making it time to upchuck all the food I’d just packed into my stomach. Toilet water splashed in my face, making me sicker as the sour stench invaded my nose with every torrent that poured from my mouth.

“Still not there yet.” Standing in the doorway, Dax leaned against the frame, filling the space with his big imposing body.

“I … just ate too fast.” I flushed away the chunks of meat and Coke-stained bread, and pushed to my feet, clutching the sink for balance.

“Pink toothbrush is yours.”

And the blue must’ve been his. Cute.

“Maybe I wanted blue.” I swallowed past the burn in my throat that felt like a lump in my esophagus. Under his watchful eye, I brushed my teeth, replacing all that sour food with a clean mint flavor that tingled against my tongue when I set the toothbrush back on the sink.

In the mirror’s reflection, his expression remained humorless. “Who’s Vinco?”