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Burned all the good things in the Eden eye - I

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The adrenaline had settled deep in his bones, a particular rush he had never felt before; the rush of stomping your enemies had scratched an itch he didn't even know he had. A lingering sense of peace followed him all the way home, only to crumble the second he stepped inside his apartment.
What now? Sleep? Oh right — she was still there, waiting for him to give her the daily fix of ketamine she had been craving, climbing the walls, searching for that little hole in the drywall where he hid his stash.

"Pack your shit; you have an hour to get the fuck out of here before I lose it and bury you in the yard."

He had never spoken to her like that. She thought he was just having one of his bad days, too much coke, too little sleep, whatever. She never bothered with his business as long as she got her drugs, a dick and a bed to trip on. She couldn't see his face clearly in the dim light, the venom in his expression, or his hollowed out eyes.

"What do you mean?" she uttered, looking up at him like a lost kid. "Baby? Something happened?"

Jo snapped. The devildriver took the wheel, and he smacked her across the face with the back of his hand, busting her lip.

She yelped in shock, her body shaking as she wiped the blood from her mouth. Something in his chest cracked; he didn't want to hit her, didn't want her to fear him or hate him. He didn't mean any of it. He told himself he had to get rid of her for her own fucking sake, and fucking lost it, not understanding that she had nowhere to go. She'd end up another cracked out whore on Skid Row because of him — because he twisted her mind with promises he couldn't keep and an addiction he refused to fix. A part of him knew that, and he'd probably hate himself for it till the day he died.

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II

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