Page 46 of The Death of Kisses

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, “I don’t think hunters are known for mercy.”

She stepped around me slowly, studying me with the same quiet intensity I’d spent studying her. It was unnerving. Every time I turned my head to follow her, she disappeared behind my shoulder again, forcing me to listen instead of look.

Boots scraped softly against the concrete. Then silence.

“Anna?”

No answer.

The cool night air kissed the exposed parts of my body as I waited for Anna to return, my ears straining as I tried not to let the panic rise in my throat. Just then I heard bootsteps resume and I exhaled a breath, watching it mingle in the air for a second longer before she came to face me with a coy smile across her face.

Her fingers deftly tugged at the edge of my tights, working them down with a tantalizing slowness that made my skin ripple. Anna’s eyes locked onto mine, deep and unwavering, as she pulled the fabric down around my thighs. A flicker of surprise flashed across her face, genuine awe filling her expression, and she softly licked her lips, hunger evident in her gaze.

“No wonder you had no panty line as tight as these leggings are,” she managed to say after a long pause. Her eyes stripped me bare, as her fingers swept through my pubic hair towards my clitoris, a jolt of surprise left me as she finished jerking the pants down and round my ankles.

“What can I say except you're welcome,” I muttered.

A nervous laugh bubbling up, as if I wasn’t entirely in control. That infectious little tune echoed in my mind, stirring a whirlwind of emotions I couldn’t quite contain. Lilly would have burst into laughter at that, but Anna and her steady, piercing gaze didn’t.

“So you’ll moan like Moana?” she teased, a slow, knowing smile curling her lips, hinting at secrets too wild to hide.

I was stunned—completely floored—by how effortlessly she caught that reference. She’d dressed me up like Sandy, and here she was, unraveling my defenses with such ease. I looked at her, worn with awe and admiration, mixed with a strange longing. Is this what it feels like to have someone truly see you? To have someone like my sweet Lilly whisper your secrets?

Without warning, Anna’s eyes darted away from my face, reaching into her cargo pocket for something I hadn’t expected. Between her fingers, she held a scarlet sash—a striking red, glowing ominously in the flashlight’s glow, like fresh blood.

“Matching set, of course,” she said softly, her lips curling into a smile as she stood, tying the red sash across my eyes, blinding me completely.

A small laugh escaped my lips, husky with anticipation, as goosebumps erupted across my skin. The silence was thick with unspoken promises. “So, what are you going to do to me?” I gasped, breath hitching, longing and fear intertwined in my voice.

“I’m going to watch you burn.”

35

HOME

2 months ago - August 5th - Town of Coldwater - Population 1,249 - 18 yr old

Lee hoisted my duffle bag as if it weighed a hundred pounds, his muscles straining with silent effort. A small smile tugged at his lips, and in that moment, it was achingly tender—something that the girl I once was would have giggled at, a fleeting spark of innocence. But now, all I could summon was a quiet, hollow smile, battered and drained. He opened the door, letting the duffle slip onto the stairs with a gentle thud. "Welcome home," he said softly, his voice heavy with unspoken understanding.

Charlotte was waiting on the edge of the stairs, her smile tentative, strained—like she was saying hello to a ghost. There was a darkness in her eyes, a war she was fighting alone inside her mind, and I was just an unwilling witness to her silent battle. When I wrapped my arms around her, it felt both like an obligation and the only thing I needed—to feel her close, even if it was fragile, even if it hurt.

She pulled a strand of my hair between her fingers, her eyes clouded with sadness. “It’s shorter than before,” she whispered. Her voice was tremulous, filled with unshed tears.

“Yeah,” I answered softly, “They say in therapy sometimes a change helps the mind recover.” But the truth was, nothing about the new haircut could heal what’s broken inside.

“Come on,” Charlotte beckoned, her hand slipping into mine as we ascended the stairs to the guest rooms. I knew this house—the creaks of the floors, the dips in the walls—like an old friend. But now, every angle felt wrong, like this house wasn’t truly ours anymore. It was just a shell of memories, a place I didn’t belong.

Charlotte opened the door to my room, revealing fresh clothes laid out on the bed. My eyes immediately caught on the fuzzy socks beside them — the ones I hated. But I didn’t have the strength to remind her. I just stared, feeling the weight of everything crushing me.

She opened the bathroom door, revealing the clawfoot tub I’d always longed to try—dreamed of sinking into to drown out the noise inside my head. Yet all I felt now was numb, like it was just a place to scrub the day’s pain away, nothing more.

Moving across the room, she reached into the cabinet and pulled out a box of strawberry pop-tarts. Her smile was soft, trying to offer comfort—“I got you your favorite snacks”—but all I could think was how desperate she seemed to fix everything in her own way.

“Thanks,” I murmured, the words thick with unspoken gratitude. Not because I wasn’t grateful—because I was. But because her effort felt clumsy, like she was trying to hold onto something that was already slipping away. Blueberry pop-tarts were my favorite.

“I’ll leave you to settle in,” Charlotte clipped, her voice tight, trying to mask her own pain. “And don’t worry about school. Lee spoke with the administration. You’re not required to go until the end of August.” She closed the door gently behind her, leaving me alone in a deafening silence.

At first, I didn’t cry. I just sat there, clutching the fuzzy socks, questioning—how the hell did they let me out of the asylum? My fingers clawed at the burn scars on my thigh, as if they could peel away the torment etched into my skin. My body responded now in pain, a cruel reminder of my brokenness. My sweatpants bore a gaping hole, the raw flesh beneath exposed and vulnerable—a taunt I could never outrun. “Be a good little bug,” the twisted whisper echoed in my mind.