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“You came for me?”
“Nooo,” I drag out and let out a humorless cackle as the man of my nightmares stands helpless at the mercy of whoever left him here, defenseless and beaten.
Like he left me.
A calm washes over me as he muddles on, murmuring about the woman he always wished I was, the one that died from an overdose about two years ago in a town on the other side of the country.
“Who was behind the photo, Jeremy?” I lower my bat across the front of my body and snarl in his direction.
“I already told him,” he screams, tears streaming down his pitted cheeks. “I told the man with the money. Ask the one with the halo. I told him.”
God, he sounds high.
“Jeremy,” I snap and flick the bat into the doorway, the thick end landing against the tank next to him with a resoundingthunk.
“Oh my God,” he screams into his bound wrists, his words echoing around in my ears and tipping up the corners of my mouth with each passing second of torture he endures. The man sobs, his bloodshot and swollen eyes wheeling on me and widening a fraction, as if I see the realization settle into his fried brain. “Cecili—Cedar.” My name comes off on a growl, his sneering lip losing all intimidation in all their busted glory once I glance down and realize the old andfresh wet spot on his crotch. “You fucking bitch.”
Jeremy’s face splits open with a sound of pure rage escaping his bruised throat.
“Who told you to take the photos, Jeremy?” I tilt my head, my chest loosening with every second the man stays chained up, just like in some of my dark fantasies, the thought tipping the corners of my mouth up in a wicked grin.
“Your fucking dildo of a boyfriend,” he screams and lunges, his pants catching just as his wrists do. “You did this to me. You whore.”
I grit my jaw at the sentiment, the name calling, the growling yell that sends me right back to a ball on the floor with this man standing over me. His hands on me, his fists hurting me.
His dick I didn’t ask for.
With flaring nostrils and a racing pulse—an adrenaline spike that screams at me to run—I raise my gaze from his dirty and bare feet in a slow perusal of the monster that haunts me with a cemented stance.
I will not run.
With each rewriting detail of his brokenness, each faucet of his downfall, each detail of his almost demonic-like possession of my thoughts, I take in this version of Jeremy now.
I will not run.
Taking in his busted and bloody state, I let my brain rewire the neurons that redirect the pathways of my fear and commit each detail to memory.
Time to fight it.
“Who had you get the pictures?”
“Fuck you, slut.”
Lifting my chin, I let a small smile tug back onto the corners of my lips as I give a small nod. “I like sex, Jeremy.” Reaching into my pocket, I fish out the Zippo he gave me before he went crazy. The one with a littleJcarved into the metal sleeve that he destroyed a tattoo gun carving it with. “Just not with you.”
I have a fifty-fifty shot that flicking the flint doesn’tblow the trailer up, considering the amount of propane that has been feeding into this space.
But, considering the pilot light on the water heater hasn’t blown us up yet, I have a minute or two before it all goes boom.
Except, I have this nagging in my mind that this man—the torturer of my sleepless nights—hasn’t suffered quite long enough.
“You slutty ass bitch,” Jeremy growls. “Get me the fuck out of here, you whore.” His tone escalates to a piercing yell with each word that rings around in my head and draws my eyes up to meet his for the last time.
Flicking open the lid of the lighter I used to love, I poise my thumb over the roller and raise my eyes to the demon that haunts my thoughts for the last time.
“Rot in hell, motherfucker.”
Dropping the thing, it falls to the brown carpet at my feet and I spin away from the crackle sounding somewhere else in the house that builds along with Jeremy’s screams.
