Page 47 of The Death of Kisses

Tears welled, hot and unstoppable, as I jerked myself up from the bed, pounding my fists against my skull in a frantic attempt to silence the chaos.

Little bug…

Lilly bug…

I didn’t know I raised a whore…

This is a lesson for you girl…

The thoughts shattered me, opening a wound I couldn’t close.

“Daddy,” I whimpered, pleading to erase his ghost, to silence the pain that tore through me. Sobs erupted in jagged bursts as I fought to keep my eyes open, searching for something to anchor me. That’s when I saw it—a spray of blood, stark and horrifying. My arms were flecked with blood and brain matter, a visceral reminder of the carnage inside my mind. I lunged into the bathroom, turning the sink on full blast, water pounding against my face as if I could wash away the horror. I pressed my face under the icy stream, scrubbing my eyes until the sting drowned out everything else.

I didn’t open my eyes until my face was stinging from the biting cold. There were no voices, no screams, no blood—just an aching emptiness that chilled me to the core. My body suddenly shifted toward the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Lee standing there. His face was marked with despair, a silent apology etched into his features as he opened his arms wide.

I staggered toward him, desperate for the comfort he offered, and he wrapped me in a gentle storm of reassurance, rubbing slow, soothing circles across my back while softly murmuring nonsense I couldn’t hear through the pounding of my own heartbeat. Tears soaked through his T-shirt as I clung to him, a fragile shred of hope crumbling inside me.

I don’t remember when I fell asleep—or maybe I never truly did. I only know I woke around three, the glow of the nightstand clock silently mocking me. My feet moved on instinct, carrying me toward the door, down the stairs—guided by some unseen force beyond my control.

The balcony doors were wide open, and moonlight spilled in, cloaking the space in silver shadows. There she sat—Charlotte—lost in her own world, cigarette hanging between her fingers, her gaze far away and distant, as if her soul was already drifting beyond reach.

Quietly, I moved outside, clutching the banister as if holding on would keep me tethered. I whispered, “You don’t have to stay awake for me.”

She looked up slowly, a hint of a small smile playing on her lips as she flicked ash from her cigarette. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway,” she murmured, the words weighted with unspoken despair. The cheap pack and lighter sat beside her, and my lips twitched faintly at her small act of defiance against the darkness. I lit my own cigarette, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths, feeling the smoke coil inside me like a quiet prayer.

“I wouldn’t have left you,” I finally admitted, my voice thick with emotion, “but you left me no choice. You took him from me.” The words felt hollow, unreal—yet my shaking hands betrayed the pain that roared inside me.

We stood there in silence, neither of us speaking, just watching the clouds drift silently over the moon, hiding their secrets behind veils of gray. For countless moments, it felt as if the moon was shielding us from each other’s truths, holding onto our pain in its glowing, distant gaze.

“You don’t look at me anymore,” I mumbled.

Charlotte froze, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and pain. “What?” she breathed.

“You just look past me,” I admitted, painfully aware of how distance had settled between us, a chasm I couldn’t bridge. I flicked the cigarette’s tiny ember off the ledge, watching it flicker and vanish into the bushes below, as if trying to erase the weight of everything unspoken.

“Do you think I’ll ever be normal again?” I asked, my voice clinging to a fragile dream that maybe, somehow, healing was still possible.

“Yeah,” she replied softly—yet the words felt hollow, a fragile shell.

Deep within, we both knew the truth—that things could never really go back to how they once were. The innocence was lost, buried beneath the silence and the unshed tears.

I adjusted the robe around my waist, the weight of the moment sinking into my bones, and Charlotte extinguished her cigarette, silence wrapping around us like a shroud.

As she moved to lock the doors, then the windows, her steps retraced in anxious loops, her mind caught in a whirlwind of fears and memories. On the third pass, after checking the deadbolt with a heavy sigh, she turned to me, her eyes searching.

“Ready for bed?” she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.

I nodded, unable to find my voice amidst the tumult.

She offered a small smile.

I returned it, soft but strained.

Neither of us spoke the truth—that beneath our smiles, we were just pretending, holding onto illusions of normalcy in a world shattered.

36

BURN FOR YOU