Collateral Damage

C H A P T E R 43

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT

Puppet

Play – ‘Yellow Love – Citizen’

“ M ash potato?” Just the thought of it churns my stomach.

“Absolutely not.” I dismiss the idea as she turns her nose up at me, shrugging her shoulders, trying to figure out what we can eat for dinner with what is left in the house.

“Ok. What about baked potato?” I can deal with that. Not my first choice but I'll take it.

“Ooo yes.” She gawks at me in disbelief, trying to rationalise my thought process here, but honestly there isn’t one. I will argue this until I'm blue in the face. They are not the same.

“THEY ARE THE SAME THING!” She throws her arms up in the air, laughing at my questionable picky eating, and my god I think she’s actually losing it over potatoes.

“No it’s not!” I shut the cabinet, trying to find other nicknacks she is hiding as she rattles on from behind me.

“IT’S MASHED POTATO!” At least there is texture in a jacket potato, mash is just baby food. The texture in my mouth makes me want to hurl.

“It’s slop on a plate!” She grabs me by the wrist pulling me into her chest, pinning me up against the island in the middle of the kitchen and my face burns. The past week has been so strange. She hasn’t exactly been gentle but she hasn’t been rough either. And we have near on fucked against every surface in this house, including this island. I am sore but I don't really care. She kept her word. She's shown me I'm wanted; she’s worshipped my body in every sense of the word and I no longer feel disposable. I feel cherished . She’s made me tell myself I'm beautiful every day since trying to literally kill me in the shower just to make a point. But I have found pleasure in pushing her buttons. I don’t know what we are, but whatever we are, it’s better than what we were. I’ve tried to hate her. I’ve thought tirelessly about what outcome this has. And honestly? None of them are good which makes me so scared. It’s like I don't want to be found.

“Spain sounds nice.” I say softly. She lifts me up onto the countertop, my ass bare and a loose crop top barely covers my petite breasts. I kind of love wearing practically nothing. She can’t keep her hands off me.

She tilts her head, realising what I'm talking about. The day she showed me her face, she asked me where we should travel.

“I was joking.” A nervous laugh slips as she kisses my cheek softly.

“I’m not.” We should both get away. Chase some normality.

“ Alo . I would love to travel the world with you. But we both know that is not possible.” She fiddles with my fingers before taking the cigarette from behind her ear, placing it in her mouth and holding the lighter out for me to ignite it. I flick the old zipper, running my thumb over the engraving to notice her mothers name carved into the metal.

“Did you two ever travel?” She draws her first puff, exhaling slowly away from my face.

“No.” Her eyes meet the floor. Bringing her mother up still hurts. I have tried to talk about her more and she has spoken about her a little lately. Like decorating. She thought of her mother then too. She is like the anchor to her love and I intend to try and keep her there if I can help it. She doesn’t need to kill anymore. She doesn’t have to be the monster she thinks she deserves to be. She hasn’t ‘worked’ for over a month now and she is definitely using sex to get that pent up frustration out. I know sitting around doing nothing is killing her. But it proves that this is possible. Her redemption is possible.

“Where did she want to go?” She draws another puff, leaning her forehead into my chest.

“Alo…”

“Tell me. Please.” She needs to do this. For me. I deserve that. Otherwise, my mother really did die for absolutely nothing. I’ve been able to sympathise with her for her actions. Though they may be unforgivable, I’ve done my grieving. She can do this for me.

“England. Also travel to other states in the US. It’s what the trailer was for.” England? That is definitely an interesting one. I glance out the window, searching for the trailer that I have not actually seen yet. It must be behind the garage.

“The one you’re rebuilding?”

“The one you did a terrible paint job on, yes.” The palm of my hands push against her chest humorously, pinching my cheeks as I smile.

“Hey! There was nothing wrong with my paint job!” I take the cigarette from her mouth gently, holding the centre, careful not to burn myself and she peers menacingly at me like I've stolen from her, flipping it to draw from it myself. I have never smoked in my life, but there is a first time for everything. I’ve already gotten drunk, so what's the worst that can happen?

I’ve been keeping on top of my meds, she even wrote me out a new calendar with all my times for my insulin shots so she would remember and to help keep me on top of it, not very serial killer of her . She never did tell me where she got such a large supply of my prescription, but in all honesty, I've never felt stronger in my own self-worth and capability than I do right now.

I draw in the cigarette, inhaling with a crippled man's cough, choking on it as it invades my lungs. It’s far more attractive when she does it. That’s one more thing off the bucket list, but I shan't be doing it again.

“You really suck at being a rebel.” She taunts as she chuckles into my mouth, inhaling my smoke and my core heats. Wow, thanks. “Right. Well. Honestly, I don’t fancy jacket potatoes. So I might just head out and grab us take out.”

I smile softly as she puckers her lips before I slide the cigarette back in her mouth.

“Wendys?” I give her puppy dog eyes and I'm sure she’s sick of it by now but I've grown an addiction.

“I won't be long.” She has barely left the house recently and I desperately want to go with her, but I know I can’t. It’s not just me involved now, it’s her too, and being found equals her going to prison. I don’t think I could live with myself if she ended up behind bars again . I know morally she deserves it, but maybe now I'm the one being selfish. If she hadn't taken my parents with her, I could completely look past the other people she’s taken for good reason. But my parents are different… My father not so much. But it’s still taken me five months to come to terms with my mom’s death and I still quietly cry at night when she thinks I'm asleep.

She puts her boots and jacket on and it doesn't take long for her to disappear out the driveway, leaving me sitting here looking around for things to do. I find my feet as I jump off the island and run to the garage. This is the first time I've been alone since she took my virginity, but a lot has changed since then. Maybe now she will confess to me what exactly she is hiding. Because for some reason, deep down I am still trying to find reasons to hate her, to feel like my guilt is meaningful. She can’t be this perfect. Or as perfect as a serial killer could be anyway. When do you ever hear about a hostage becoming their kidnappers' side piece? Never .

I tip toe towards the locked door of secrets and lock pick it. I’ve gotten quite good at that.

The door slowly creeks open, revealing a creepy wooden staircase and a pit of darkness. I would never go down into our basement because I am absolutely terrified of them. I stand there for a moment debating whether I should face my demons, but I've been facing them for five months. Nothing scares me at this point, so I take my first step, the wood creeks underneath my foot as I make my way down the steep stairs. I wonder how anyone walks down there without falling, whilst I scramble to find a switch on the wall.

The room becomes a timid glow of orange light and a single light bulb hangs from a cord in the centre of the ceiling where a punching bag is hanging in the middle of a fairly large open space. Some cardboard boxes scatter the back wall and a worktop cluttered with junk and a boombox are collecting dust. She hasn’t been down here for ages from what I can recall, maybe I really am just being paranoid. I don’t know what I was expecting but this is pretty normal. Why is she so afraid of me finding out about her man cave? I reach the ground floor, taking a closer look. Even down here, desolate and unused her smell still wafts underneath my nose. A door catches my attention as I continue to snoop in the furthest corner of the room. There is a passageway and a door sits barricaded shut with wooden planks and the fattest nails I've ever seen. Whatever she doesn’t want me to find?

I think I’ve just found it.