Chapter 13
Anonymous
Fifteen years-old
"You're a useless little spawn.” she spits at me. "It's no wonder your mother never wanted you." I stare up at her hate-filled eyes from my place on the kitchen floor. I want to claw at them, rip away her sight. My stomach hurts from the blow to it. I wish I could say I deserved this. That I've done something so utterly heinous and unforgivable to this woman. But all I did was walk through the door on a bad day. "Stand up." She drags me up by my arm, her nails digging painfully into me.
Billy isn't always like this. Sometimes she is kind, Billy, and she tells me snippets of information about where I came from. I collect and hoard as much as I can, trying to decipher what is real and what she makes up in her head.
Other times, she's deranged, like she is now, flying off the handles in a psychotic rage. She spits profanities and uses me as her punching bag. She could have a fight with her useless supermarket boyfriend or just feel like shit, and it'll be my fault. My fault for living. My fault for existing in her world.
Sad Billy is the worst because she tries to hurt herself. I wonder if, in those times, I should let her. Just turn a blind eye when she places a knife to her wrist or downs a bottle of pills with scotch. Billy's multiple facets make me crawl inside my skin. She smells of smoke and scotch now. I let myself be dragged into the one place she knows I hate the most. She swings open the door to the cupboard and shoves me inside.
“No, Billy, please,” I try to plead with the human Billy I know is in there somewhere.
"Maybe, you'll think better about thinking you're better than me next time."
“What are you talking about? I never -”
Her palm connects with my face, and I shrink backward. There is no getting through to her, not like this.
She slams the door in my face and turns the key, making sure the deadbolts are locked. It's dark here. So dark, I wonder if I will ever see the light again. This is the kind of darkness that suffocates and oppresses. What I fear most is not this, but the song of death that rings in my ear.
I slide down the wall and bring my knees close to my chest. I've spent so much time in this space, its raunchiness has become a second home. There is a pungent odor from all the days I have been in here. I try to clean it out, but some filth sticks to a place permanently. I don't know how long it'll be this time. She's unpredictable when she's like this. But I use this time to think, to plan, to prepare.
Billy hates me because she hates herself more. She feels inferior to me. My greatness intimidates her. I feel around beneath me until I reach the small crevice at the back. I pull out the small blade I keep there. I reach toward the wall, and find a blank space and start to carve small dents into it to count the hours. I settle into the blackness, a smile curving my lips. Not long now, Billy, not long.
Chapter 14
Anonymous
Iwatch you leave the house Sin. I know you’re on your way to the police station. What do you hope to achieve by that? It isn't going to help you. You got yourself in a fix and the outcome will always be the same. You look around you, sensing my closeness. It will all make sense soon enough, Sin. I saw the package being delivered earlier.. I crept to your living room window and saw you freak out, dropping the scarf like it burned your fingers. You finally made that call to the police station
I want to watch how this plays out. I'm glad it got you out of the house for a few hours. I walk around your perfect home, running my gloved hands across the furniture. You have good taste. I look at the family photos hanging on the wall, and I feel an anger I haven't in a while. I wonder if what I should have done in the first place is slice you to shreds, let you bleed out. You have everything, Sin, everything, and that can't be fair. It isn't. I pick up a few essential items, and I'm about to get the hell out when I hear the door. I still mid-stride and listen. You can't be back yet. The kids are at school.
"Yeah, I know, Malcolm, I'll get to it tomorrow. Sin needs me right now." It's Cohen. Is he here with someone? "Fine," he continues, and I guess he's on the phone. He lets out a frustrated groan. My blood runs cold. I back away and find myself in the bedroom. There's a blindside, between the window and the closet, a corner big enough for me to fit and small enough to not likely be seen. I decide to take it. I try to calm my breaths, making sure not to make a sound. From my vantage point, I can see the door to the bedroom and the bathroom. Cohen enters the room, runs his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.You don't look a day older, do you, Cohen Finley?He starts to unbutton his shirt, slowly slipping the soft blue material off his shoulders, and I nearly gasp. I didn't know I was going to get this lucky. He drops his pants and boxer briefs next. He's all muscle, power, and masculinity.You are a lucky woman, Sin. Do you realize how truly fortunate you are to have a man like this dote on you the way he does?
Still, nobody is perfect. We all know that. I watch him disappear into the bathroom, and a few seconds later, the shower turns on. I have a few seconds to get the hell out of this house, but I'm curious, so I approach the bathroom cautiously. The mirror directly opposite the doorway means I can spy on him without him realizing it. His back is to me. I step closer and risk a peek. He's so beautiful, the water cascading over him. I have the urge to touch him, show myself. That would be stupid, and, I, dear Sin, am far from stupid. Still, I watch, and my cheeks heat when he fists his cock, grunting in pleasure, calling out - wait a minute - he just called out another woman's name. I grin in delight. This is going to be easier than I thought. What are the chances?
Chapter 15
Sinclair
"Detective Jameson?" I open the door, surprised to see him standing on my doorstep. "Has there been news?"
“No, nothing new, I just wanted to check in and see if you’ve had any more contact from the person sending you those packages.”
I suddenly feel underdressed in my PJ pants and a tank top. I cover up my ladies by crossing my arms, knowing full well the chill would have an impact on me. "You want to come in. It's much warmer in here." I offer and step aside to let him in. I shut the door behind me. "We can talk in the dining room," I tell him leading the way, grabbing a hoodie Co thankfully hung on the coat rack despite the number of times I told him not to.
“Can I get you something to drink Detective?”
"Oh, uhm, it's Creed, and coffee would be great."
I smile. “Would you give me a minute?”
"I could join you in the kitchen. Save time." He looks awkward and out of place, so I figure him keeping me company might be the best option.
He follows me into the kitchen and stands against a counter. He looks around the room, his eyes settling on my laptop. “You said you were a writer?”
