“You can completely destroy her mind if you let her do this,” Jameson grits out.
“Last time. Let her kill him. I know my wife better than you,” Irvin answers.
“I enjoyed raping you,” Emerson says. “That sweet pussy on my dick while you cried, begged me to stop. I also enjoyed killing your parents. They begged for their lives. They kept me from you. Just like this bastard.”
My mother bleeds out on the floor in front of me. My father lies beside her, a hole in his head.
I need to make it stop. I don’t know how else to make it stop.
Muffled voices collapse into silence.
I swing.
The impact lands with a dull, final crack.
Warm blood splashes across my hands.
Cool air burns my cheeks.
The light in his eyes vanishes.
I breathe shallowly.
Blink once.
Twice.
The sound of my sobs floods my ears—broken, uneven, tearing out of me.
I collapse into the pool of his blood as emptiness swallows me whole.
Irvin scoops me up in his arms and carries me out of the warehouse.
Lilac
Irvin removes my bloody clothes from my body and places me in the warm water of the tub. I sit, blink up at the window, staring at the full, pale moon. Irvin says something, but my mind doesn’t register what he said. My body feels as if it’s not my own, as if I’m floating. My body feels heavy, like dead weight.
The water turns pale pink. My body is numb. Irvin rubs the washcloth over my shoulder, and the fabric is too rough. I flinch. The soap on my skin is too cold. The lights from the ceiling blind my eyes. I close my eyes, trying to block everything, but I can’t. No matter how hard I try. The smell of iron mixes with lavender and invades my nostrils. Everything is too sharp—Irvin’s voice, the scrape of the washcloth, the water, even though it feels warm against my skin.
After Irvin bathes me, he wraps a cotton towel around my body, drying me off. He bends down, and I lean on his shoulders as he slides my fresh panties on, then my silk pajama shorts, and then he buttons up my matching silk shirt. The fabric is satiny against my skin. He picks me up and carries me to our bed.His hands on my body feel warm, inviting. His cologne invades my nostrils. Him being so close calms me somehow. I study his facial features—his face relaxed, devoid of emotions. The cool blanket presses against my sensitive skin.
I continue to stare at the moon through the window. The silence scares me. Everything feels wrong. Too wrong. It’s peaceful, quiet. The smell of both our scents is in the room, wrapping me up in a bubble.
My chest tightens, and my hands shake. My eyes sting. I burst out in tears, placing my fingers over my eyes. I sob, burying my face in Irvin’s chest. I don’t know what came over me. I try to suppress the tears, but there’s no use. I let it all out, soaking Irvin’s chest. He strokes my hair, pats my back, and I cry even harder.
So many emotions stir in me—horror, grief, relief—all crashing down at once.
Have I gone mad? Am I losing my mind?
The crack of the skull.
Buried in the ground.
Blood on my clothes.
The axe in my hand.
My mind is quiet. Why?
