Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
I step toward Lev and nudge him with the toe of my boot. “Get the fuck up.”
Lev doesn’t move. His eyes are empty as if he’s fuckin’ disappeared somewhere.
Like the first time I saw him.
Chapter 14
Cyrus—Age 19
Youth Psychiatric Detention Center
“Yo, why the fuck is that guy staring at us?” Zeke asked, peering over my shoulder.
I turned to see a guy with jet-black hair and steely eyes. “Wanna give him something to stare at?”
“It’s fuckin’ weird,” Zeke said, ignoring my question. “He’s just fucking staring at us. I’m not sure if he’s even blinked.”
We were in the visitor room, waiting for Azadeh. She came by twice a week. At first, it was to visit Zeke, but I’d somehow wangled an invitation to sit with them. I wanted to know what was so special about this chick Zeke was obsessed with. He cared more about her than he probably did about breathing. Shit, the girl was probably the air he inhaled.
I didn’t have any problems fooling around with Zeke because he swore up and down that they were friends. He admitted he wanted more, but Azadeh refused to commit. I told him he better be upfront with me, or he’d see the full extent of my anger because we all knew I would literally burn the bitch. Turned out I had nothing to worry about because, after three months, I was halfway in love with Azadeh.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Azadeh’s soft voice chimed as she sat beside us. She had a giant beach bag with her, full to the brim. “I brought you all some stuff.”
Azadeh unloaded it on the table. Rice, a stew she called Gromeh Sabzi—the stuff looked appetizing, and I swore the flavors created a party in your mouth. Who would’ve thought that a beef and bean stew marinated for hours in various herbs would be so fucking tasty?
I grabbed one of the paper plates Azadeh placed on the table and dug in. “When I get fat, you better still love me.”
Azadeh laughed. “Be around a Persian girl, and you’ll always be fed and then some.” She turned her gaze on Zeke and placed her hand on his right eye. She always did that, hoping it would miraculously return to normal. I guessed it was tough knowing he’d lost an eye because of her.
“How are you doing, Az?” Zeke asked, popping a spoonful of pomegranate in his mouth.
I liked how Azadeh removed all the seeds and put them in a Tupperware. I was lucky if my mom let me eat and this girl had brought a full meal to lockup for us.
“A few more months. The lawyer says I’m lucky. Getting locked up right before I turn eighteen should’ve gotten me a prison term instead of juvie.” Zeke shrugged. “It could’ve been worse, Az.”
Azadeh sighed, and her shoulders relaxed as she gazed at us. “Better eat up. You know how much I hate leftovers. I wish they’d let you take it back with you. It’s just food. What are you gonna do, shank someone to death with some basmati rice?”
I slapped my hand over my mouth so I didn’t spray food everywhere. Azadeh was something. The girl came off as this sweet, meek little thing scared of her own shadow, but she was a spitfire. Zeke once told me that she was the strongest person he knew. I tried to pry information out of him, but he told me it wasn’t his story to tell, and she’d confide in me when she was ready.
I swallowed and tilted my head toward her. “You know a lot about shanking.”
She smiled. “Probably more than an eighteen-year-old should.”
The girl was beautiful. My hand moved instinctively to my face, and I traced the brutal burn marks. Disfigured flesh was all I presented in the world.
“They’re interesting,” Azadeh said as if reading my mind. She pointed to my face when I glanced at her. “Your scars are interesting.”
“They make me look like a monster,” I said, eyes connecting with hers.
“No, they don’t. Monsters are beautiful, Cyrus. You should know that. They appeal to the masses. Their beauty lulls you into a sense of safety. If demons showed you their true face, they couldn’t corrupt innocent people.” She placed her hand on my cheek. “You, above all others, understand the tragedy of what a real monster is capable of.”
A lump formed in my throat, and my mouth went dry. She held me in a tender moment, and I didn’t do sweet moments well. It was why I used humor so much. The laughing lunatic. A model after the Joker from Batman. Let them think you were crazy. I was the epitome of the graphic novel The Killing Joke by Alan Moore.
Screams startled us, and we turned to see the guy with the black hair and creepy eyes on the ground. He was like a wild animal, lashing out, his teeth digging into the hand of one of the guards. Fuck, that dude was going to get it. They’d probably drug him and leave him drooling in a locked room somewhere. His screams were shrill and terrifying. That wasn’t a sound a man made from being jumped. It stemmed from something else. It was almost like he was being subjected to the most gruesome form of torture.