Chapter 38
H ow’s it feel to be a failure?
God, you’re pathetic.
You couldn’t even save your own sister.
I jolt awake, clawing myself away from my nightmare’s clutches.
Images of haunted blue eyes clog my headspace on the daily, and the sudden movement has sharp needles of pain shooting up my wrists and ankles as I aggravate my restraints.
The echo of my sister’s voice berating me, along with the memory of her lifeless eyes, remind me where I am, alongside the dull throb in my wrist and between my legs. As if I could forget.
“Good morning, pet. I’ve a special treat in store for you today. Are you excited?” The sardonic smirk on Kyle’s face as he enters the basement speaks of things I’d rather not experience, not after the last time he dangled something special in front of me.
“Of course,” I manage to mutter, but my lack of enthusiasm is enough to flip the ever-present switch in him. In a blink, he’s across the room, the door wide open behind him as he pins me to the bed .
His harsh breath fans across my face as he snarls, “I’ve had enough of your shit, 103.
Do you realise how lucky you are to be mine?
How good you have it?” Reaching between us, he grips my chin, pinching my jaw to the point of pain as he glares down at me.
“I’m going to show you just how lucky you are to have me, you ungrateful slut. ”
Reaching over, he undoes the ties, freeing my wrists.
I don’t have more than a second to enjoy being free before he’s yanking me up, only to shove me to my knees in front of him.
My stomach drops at the implications. There’s something about being forced to take him into my mouth that feels like an even worse violation.
Maybe it’s because this act forces me to partake, to be a willing participant in a way.
With a hungry look, he demands, “Take my cock out.”
My hands are shaking as I reach up to undo his belt. My stomach twists into a million knots as I undo his button and fly, dreading the part that comes next.
“I said take it out, not edge me,” he snarls when I don’t move fast enough. Letting out a breath, I reach in to pull his cock out from behind his fly.
“That’s a good pet. Now, kiss my cock and show me how grateful you are.
” The glee in his tone has my stomach revolting, but flicking my eyes up to his, I maintain eye contact as I lean forward.
Slowly, I press a kiss to the tip of it, fighting against the urge to vomit.
You’d think he’d wash this damn thing before demanding a blowjob, but no.
The stench of piss and body odour greets me.
Pushing past the urge to gag and the horrific idea of putting him in my mouth, I swallow to try and get some saliva in my dry mouth.
And then, still maintaining eye contact, I slip my lips around him.
His head tips back on a groan as he reaches down to thread his fingers through my hair.
Slipping him deeper into my throat, I pay close attention to his face.
With his eyes closed and my mouth at the base of his pathetic cock, I take one sharp inhale before scraping him with my teeth, lulling him into a false sense of security.
“Fuck, just like that, slut,” he groans, holding me even tighter to his base.
Lightning quick, I clamp down, and for a split second, he freezes in shock before, with a howl, he shoves me off him.
Or, well, he tries to shove me away. Unfortunately for him, my teeth are my only weapon, and I’m not about to lose this opening.
So, with sheer determination, I clench down harder, ignoring the metallic taste of blood as it pools in my mouth.
“You fucking bitch,” he shrieks at a pitch only dogs can hear as he finally succeeds in shoving me away.
But it’s too late to save his so-called manhood.
Spitting out the lump of flesh, I rise to my feet as he howls, cupping himself and spewing vitriol at me.
I lunge for the branding iron in the corner.
After my branding session all those years ago, he thought it was a ‘nice reminder to behave’.
Instead, that damn thing has taunted me daily with thoughts of if only I could get my hands on it, he’d never get his hands on me again .
Turns out, today’s the day to make that dream a reality.
Feeling more powerful than I have in years, with the taste of freedom on the tip of my tongue, I use his distraction to my advantage.
Putting every scrap of strength into it, I swing the iron above my head and aim for his skull.
With a curse, he crumbles to the ground on impact, lunging for my ankles.
Dodging his grasp, I follow him down, straddling his back and fisting his greasy hair in my hand.
“This is for ruining my life.” Thunk.
“For taking what wasn’t yours to take.” Thunk.
“For every moment you stole from me.” Thunk.
“This is for Freya.” Thunk.
Soon, I’m seeing red, unable to stop bashing his head into the floor. Again, again, again, until his whimper fades and his blood has joined mine in every crevice of this room. Until I’m covered in it and brain matter. Until he stops moving, stops whimpering, stops breathing.
“Take that, asshole,” I spit, landing one final hit with a grunt before rolling off him.
It’s not until I’m watching his blood swirl down the drain that the implications of my actions hit me.
I killed a man, and not just any man—the piece of shit who’s kept me captive for six years and helped murder my sister.
I’m free for the first time in close to a decade, but at the same time, am I really?
I have no idea where I am, with no means of getting back home.
Do I even still have a home to go back to?
And Cora—what will she make of her mum being a murderer?
And God—Jonathan. He needs to know about the potential rat, but will he even want to see me?
Can I stomach seeing him? So many questions, so few answers, and no time to waste pondering them.
Shelving my worries for now, I finish getting cleaned up the best I can before venturing upstairs to start my hunt for answers and freedom.
Being free to roam the house that has been my prison for so long doesn’t feel right.
Each second spent snooping upstairs feels like a second wasted.
I should just run before I’m caught. Logically, I know it’s just me and Kyle’s corpse, but fear leaves no space for logic, so it’s with shaky hands and a pounding heart that I flick through random papers on Kyle’s desk, not really processing what I’m looking at until a name jumps out at me.
Benedict Murphy
My lip curls as I read that bastard’s name, and the bloodlust that was sated comes roaring back.
Scanning the letter full of all kinds of boasting bullshit, I look for any information I can use, only to hit the jackpot when an envelope falls from between the pages.
Bending to pick it up, I flick it over, and there, in black and white, is a return address.
With as much cash as I can find stuffed in the pockets of my borrowed hoodie and sweats and a destination in mind, I make my way downstairs.
Eyeing up the door that taunted me far more than an inanimate object should be capable of, I can’t help but feel a twisted sense of accomplishment.
Finally , after six godawful years, I’m about to cross its threshold once and for all.
Freedom is a basic human right, yet inhaling that first breath of fresh air feels foreign, like any minute, someone is going to track me down, strip me naked, and throw me back into that basement.
Keeping my eyes peeled and my head down, I work to find a way out of the grounds surrounding the house, but every time I so much as hear a twig snap, I freeze, terrified that this is it.
My brief escape is over. Then, I have to work on reminding myself I do deserve this.
Being free shouldn’t feel like something earnt. It should just be a given.
Making it out to a main road, I quickly determine I’m not in London anymore.
Nothing looks familiar, and none of the street names are ones I recognise or have even heard of.
I might be free, but I have no idea how to get home or where to even start.
Looking down at the oversized hoodie and joggers I stole, it’s also clear it’ll be a miracle if I don’t raise a few eyebrows.
Following the winding road, I keep an eye out for any clues as to where I am.
It’s not until I stumble across a sign for a town I could swear was in Northern Ireland that I realise just how far from home I am.
The soft barking of a dog draws my attention up ahead.
An older lady is walking her poodle, and as much as I’d rather not draw attention to myself, if I’m going to work on getting home, I need to know where I am.
“So sorry to bother you, but I’m a tad lost. Is there any chance you could point me in the right direction?” Painting a friendly smile on my face, I approach her slowly so as not to startle her.
“These country roads will do that to you, won’t they?” She smiles as she talks down to her dog before turning her attention back to me. “Where is it you’re headed?”
Rattling off the address from the letter, she frowns to herself for a moment, repeating it before, with a click of her fingers, giving me some directions and landmarks to look out for. Thanking her, I head the way she pointed.
Time to take out the trash once and for all.