Filthy 3 by Megan D. Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

that needed to be combed. The tears that ran down her cheeks looked like glass. They were clear little orbs, the only thing on her face that proved she wasn’t dead.  
    It was hard for me to accept that this woman and I were one in the same. We were monsters, her and I. Every time I saw her she was even more lost than the last time. She was dirtier each time. A new slice on her belly, a deep seated craving itching at her skin for more and more and more until the point where she would do anything to have what she wanted. She would fuck him over and over as long as she had those few moments of bliss. She would do anything. Anything to escape reality for a few seconds.  
    The woman in the mirror was me. And I despised her. I hated her. I understood why Rhett hated me. Why Taylor hated me. I was some sort of poison. It was in my blood. It had to be. I was the common denominator for all their hate. Even my own mother hated me. At the end she had watched him fuck me. Watched him pound into me with his stiff cock harder than he ever had before while I cried. While I begged for him to stop and her to help me.  
    He didn’t stop. She didn’t help. She watched while she sipped some expensive drink from a martini glass. And she smiled. She smiled while he ruined me.  
    “No. No. No!” I shook my head and slammed my fist into the mirror. The glass cracked under my weight, fragmenting my reflection, making my face lopsided and crooked. I liked it better that way. Distorted.  
    I jerked open the medicine cabinet, revealing what I came for. The tiny pill bottles. There were more than twenty of them. My mother’s name written on each one. Medicine Taylor still hadn’t thrown out.  
    I grabbed the bottle with the most medicine inside and twisted off the cap. My hands were heavy, bumbling and slow, but it still came off, revealing big white pills. For a moment I stared at them. Studied them. Focused on them. They were made to heal, whatever they were. They were made to fix, to repair. To help. But that’s not what I was going to use them for.  
    The pills in this bottle were the answer. They were going to solve all my problems. They were going to take me out of this fucked up world I was in. They were going to save me. They were the only thing that could save me.
    I tipped to bottle on its end, taking as many pills into my mouth as I could. My throat was dry and only a few made it down. I wrenched the faucet on and shoved my face under it forcing the pills down my throat. My mouth tasted like cotton and I gagged, my throat wanting to reject them, but I didn’t let it. I forced them all down. Until they were gone and the bottle was empty.  
    I dropped it on the floor. It fell from my fingertips, seeming to fall in slow motion before clacking against the tile.  
    I felt nothing at first. Nothing but the ache under my skin. The same ache that plagued me day after day. Panic set in. What if this doesn’t work? What if he comes back and I’m fine? What if—
    But I shut down my thoughts and jerked open the top drawer on Taylor’s side of the sink. The answer lay there. A razor. The one Taylor used to shave his face every morning, to keep his skin smooth and flawless. I yanked it out and this time I didn’t stop to ponder the blade. I turned the razor sideways and shoved it against my wrist. Pressing down as hard as I could I drug it up my arm. It tore my skin open, blood leaping to the surface. I whimpered at the pain, but I didn’t stop. It had to be done.
    Wooziness set in as I pulled the blade from my skin. I slid down on the wall across from the sink. I stared down at my arm, watching the blood leak out. I tried to move it so I could use the blade on my other one, but arms felt heavy, like I was trying to lift a car. So I let go of the razor, let it fall to the tile like the pill bottle, like my dripping blood. It seemed to run faster and I had to look away as my head started to spin.  
    I was twisting away from life and