Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
RUIN
They say life moves on, but I never get that feeling. I feel stuck in an endless limbo, going back and back to the night two years ago, trying to remember what truly happened. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t, and no matter how hard I am trying, it still doesn’t bring me the peace I need.
What’s worse, for a year now, someone has been watching me, making sure I never get the happy ending I need to move on.
I don’t know who this man is. For some time, I thought it was Judas. But this man can speak. He only says a word or two, but he speaks, and that scares me.
I am scared because I know how this will go. He will stalk me until he grows tired, and then he will kill me and drop my body somewhere in the ocean. That is what stalkers do.
Right?
But my stalker not only makes my life miserable, but he also makes people disappear. To be precise, every single man I want to date.
I wish I could see his face, because when I close my eyes, all I see is Judas.
But I know it’s not him. Still, I’m waiting, thinking maybe one day he will show up on my doorstep and tell me that all of this is just a bad dream. Even though two years have passed, I still remember him as if it were yesterday.
The doorbell pulls my thoughts apart, and I gasp as my head tilts down.
Catherine is away with Lucas, and I’m home alone. I don’t expect anyone.
I pull the sweater over my head and smooth it down my body as I walk from the bedroom and down the stairs. The house feels too empty. But I can’t shake the odd feeling that someone is watching me.
I swallow the lump in my throat and make my way toward the door, glancing left and right, trying to see if someone is there.
I open the door, and no one stands outside.
When my gaze drops, I see a small cardboard box with a red bow. I lift it, surprised by how light it feels. I close the door behind me and carry it to the cupboard on the left side. I set it down and untie the bow.
I lift the lid and gasp, stumbling back.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My hand flies to my mouth. Arms hook around me from behind. A hard chest presses into my back. Warm breath ghosts my neck. His nose drags along my skin as he inhales my perfume.
“Watch,” he says, his voice is broken, raspy, and deep.
He shoves me toward the cupboard and tips my head down.
My eyes land on what sits in the carton box. A severed cock.
My stomach drops.
He laughs.
My heart slams against my ribs. My head tilts, trying to see his face because the laugh is too familiar.
“Jimmy,” he says, forcing my chin lower.
“You killed Jimmy?” The words scrape out of my throat.
“Y-yes.” He sniffs my hair. The knife slides up to my neck, guiding me backward. “Hap-p-py birthd-d-day.”
I swallow.
I met Jimmy yesterday. My mind stumbles over the timing, the coincidence, the way this moment feels planned long before I ever came back home.
“Let me go.” I shove in his arms.
He tightens his grip and steers me into the living room.
It’s so dark. I can barely see the furniture, but I can feel him behind me. His breath never leaves my skin.
He forces me down onto the sofa and climbs over me. He pins my wrists above my head and slides up my sweater over my face, blinding me.
“Fuck you,” I shout. My legs kick, searching for space, but I just kick the empty air.
He presses closer. My pulse is rising and I hear it in my ears. I can’t see anything, just the edge of the knife as he presses it down to my skin.
“Kill me,” I shout, “do it already.”
I feel his breath trace slowly down my skin, then his gloved fingers close around my breasts, cupping them in his palm. He drags me closer, his mouth sealing around my nipple. His teeth graze it before he lets go, leaving a sharp, burning pulse on my hard nipple.
“You will fucking pay for this, asshole.” I try to move, to squirm out from under him, but my body betrays me. It leans into his touch, heat pooling low, forming goosebumps on my skin. And I hate myself for the way I respond.
The knife handle glides down my breasts, over my stomach, then lower, to my soaked pussy. He presses the blunt tip to my inner flesh, nudging inside just enough to steal my breath before pulling it back out like he was checking how far he can go with me.
He laughs and steps away. He says nothing.
“Fuck you,” I shout as I yank the sweater off my head. But he is already gone.
My head tilts towards the entrance as I hear the splash near the pool.
I drag the sweater down and run towards it. The water is already still when I reach it. The pool lights turn on, and the water’s reflection appears on the windows, cutting the dark from outside.
Hands slam into my back.
And I slip into the cold water that swallows me.
My mouth fills as I gasp. The sweater tangles around my face. I claw at it and kick, searching for the surface, but I can’t find it. The world turns into pressure, muffled sound, and the pounding of my own heart.
He plunges in after me.
He rips the sweater away, leaving me naked. His strong hands lock around me and haul me up. He spins me, keeping his face so I can’t see him. But not fast enough. I catch a glimpse of dark hair and wings tattooed into his neck.
I shove him under the water, my foot slamming into his chest, pushing him further down. I lunge for the edge, arms burning as I swim.
He stands. The pool is shallow enough for him.
He gets me before I can climb out.
“I’ll call the cops,” I shout, coughing up water.
He doesn’t react.
He slams me into the edge of the pool and lifts me just enough for my hands to scrape tile. I drag myself forward until my chest is on the cold marble floor.
His grip clamps around my legs and yanks me back.
“Let me go, you psycho,” I scream. I twist and kick, my heel crashing into him again and again. But he doesn’t even flinch.
“No,” he says. “Finish.”
“Finish what?” I shout. “Drowning me?”
He laughs and moves closer.
“Meal.”
“Meal?” The word barely leaves my mouth before regret hits. His breath ghosts my inner thighs.
My hands fly back, reaching for him. I can’t touch him. His strong hands keep me locked in place, pinned between the water and the edge of the pool.
He spreads my ass cheeks and brings his face up to me. I gasp as his tongue finds my clit, a sharp spark of heat shooting through my body.
My fist slams against the tiles, as if it might ground me, and I shout, “Fuck.”
His grip only tightens.
“Sit,” he commands, lowering me down on his face.
“Fuck,” I moan as his tongue slides from my clit, dipping into my inner flesh. I am already throbbing, swollen, and I hate how my body gives in even as my mind fights it. It feels too good not to.
I close my eyes, holding myself on the slick tiles of the pool, my wet hair spread down my back. He drags his teeth upward, from below to my clit, sucking it into his mouth while his tongue moves slowly up and down. Eating me.
One hand leaves my ass. I feel his fingers slip inside me, first one, then two. He thrusts them in slowly as his tongue circles my clit. He curls his fingers, hooking them just right, and I know his only intention is to break me. And I am already broken.
A moan tears out of me. I can’t hold it back. He doesn’t stop. He makes sure I feel every single thrust, hooking and releasing, moving in and out until my inner walls clamp down around his fingers. His mouth never leaves me, his tongue dragging up and down my throbbing, sensitive skin.
“Oh God,” I gasp. “Please.” Another moan spills out of me.
He says nothing. He keeps thrusting until my thighs start to shake, until I feel how tight I am around his fingers. He pulls them free, slaps my clit once, then lowers his face again, dragging his tongue from my clit down to my ass, his teeth grazing my skin before he moves back up.
“Fuck,” I gasp as his fingers return, thrusting in and out until my body gives up again.
My hands curl against the tiles, my mouth falling open as short, broken breaths spill out of me. He drives his fingers inside relentlessly.
My thighs tremble, every last shred of dignity slipping away as wetness trails down his hand when he pulls out. He moves his fingers over my clit, slapping it fast, my sensitive skin screaming under his touch as my legs shake.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I moan, trying to hold myself up on the tiles, but nothing keeps me in place except him.
As he moves his face back to my throbbing pussy, he drags his tongue along my inner flesh until I can’t take it anymore.
A moan rips out of me, almost a scream. I press my palm over my mouth, my thighs still shaking. Then he grips me and pulls me down into the water. My head goes under, and in the next breath, he is gone, climbing out of the pool, walking away, laughing.
I want to drown.
I stay under, the water moving in my ears, my mind replaying everything that just happened.
My lungs burn, begging for air. I break the surface with a gasp and haul myself out, my hands slipping on the tiles as I drag my legs onto the floor.
I collapse there, staring up, my body still shuddering with the aftershocks he left behind.
This is the first time he touched me. The first time, I actually let him.
And even though my mind wants to erase everything that happened, my body still aches for more.
I stare at the pile of dirt I just dug to bury Jimmy’s cock.
Ever since Judas disappeared, Catherine didn’t like the idea of bringing the police over.
I still think she is keeping something from me, but in the past two years, I have seen her maybe ten times total.
Most of the time, she stays at Lucas’s place, and I don’t blame her.
They say houses hold memories. This one has too many. Hold the worst ones. Death. Grief. Despair. I stayed because it feels no different than my life.
Sometimes I hear noises. Soft footsteps brushing along the hall. A whisper of movement behind closed doors. But I tell myself it’s all in my head.
When I lift my face, I see someone in the window.
A woman in white. Her dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders. She stands there, looking down at me, still as a painting.
The crunch of tires on the driveway pulls my attention away. I turn my head, and when I look back, the window is empty.
I see her sometimes. Always in the same spot.
I tried to find the room, but it seems it doesn’t exist.
“What are you doing?” Catherine stomps toward me, her heels getting stuck in the dirt.
“My goldfish died,” I say, smacking my lips.
She lifts a brow. “Why are you wet?”
“I tried to revive it in the pool.”
She crosses her arms. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“I’m drunk.” I wobble on purpose and grab the shovel for balance.
“That, I believe.” She turns and walks toward the house, then looks back. “You coming?”
I nod. I carry the shovel to the wall, lean it there, and follow her inside.
“Am I alone here?” I ask, trying to keep up with her pace.
“We have maids,” she says. “If that’s what you are asking.”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
Maybe the woman in the window is a maid.
She opens a cupboard, ignoring the carton box with a red ribbon. The inside is still smeared with dried blood. She takes something out and heads back toward the pool.
“We got something for you,” she says.
I follow her, pacing behind, still pretending I am losing my balance.
We reach the garage. She lifts the door, and next to Judas’s two bikes, there is one more.
A pink Yamaha R125.
“Happy birthday,” she says.
I scream. I spin back to her and wrap my arms around her.
“Since you have your license, we thought you should have your own bike too,” she says.
I rush toward it. My hand slides down the leather seat, over the cool pink metal, then settles on the black handlebars. The rubber grips press into my palms.
“It’s perfect,” I say. My eyes burn with happiness. “Can I ride?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You just told me you were drunk a minute ago.”
“It was a cover because I had to bury a dick my stalker brought me for a birthday present,” I say, blinking at her.
She laughs. “Carmen, this just proves how drunk you are. You can’t ride.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
I step back from the bike, tilt my head, and walk beside her.
This is why I can’t tell the truth anymore. The things in my life sound almost unbelievable.