Chapter 28
I never did leave Rockford.
After driving away and leaving Dean at his garage I managed to find a little apartment on the outskirts of town after seeing it advertised on a flyer on the inside of a public toilet stall.
I thought the universe was playing a prank on me, showing me something that was too good to be true knowing I was living in desperate times.
I couldn’t sleep in my car any longer, I don’t think my aching bones could take it either.
Using the burner phone my father gave to me to call up about the advertisement, it turns out it was available so I jumped at the opportunity.
It was an older couple who were renting the apartment, they never bothered to ask for my ID which was a bonus in my case considering I didn’t have any and they wanted payment in cash every month.
I couldn’t say no to that, so after a couple of days I moved in and to my surprise a bed had already been left in the bedroom, it had a small under counter fridge and a well worn, but loved black couch sat in the middle of the open space living room and a box TV sitting on the light wooden floors.
It was everything I needed to start again.
To be able to land on my own feet but my husband’s face and voice plagues my every thought at night.
The vision of him never leaves me, I see him on the local news every time I turn the TV on.
I imagine him being able to see me through the screen, stalking me, knowing my every move.
The darkness that I managed to escape from graces me with its presence again, its warm embrace taking me under whenever I think about putting an end to this torment.
I haven’t taken my trusted razor blade to my skin in a while, I guess my adrenaline kept me from thinking about it but now that it’s worn off, the temptation is heavy and real.
To feel in control of my body, to feel the pain I’m constantly experiencing seep out from skin in thick rivulets until I’m cleansed from the toxic poison.
Yes, I could put an end to everything right this moment.
There’s not a single soul that would stop or miss me.
I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved, taken by the hands of one single man and now I’m left here wandering aimlessly in this black abyss, clawing on my hands and knees in the dirt to find a way out, but that light at the end of the tunnel never comes. I’ve never felt so hollow, so empty.
So I do what I do best. I hurt myself. I hurt and heal myself simultaneously.
The sharp blade slices easily into the tender skin of my forearm, and the relief I feel is almost instant as a shallow buzz races through my bloodstream, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.
The rich red liquid pumps up and out of the wound until it runs down my arm and pools into the lukewarm bath water, turning it a soft shade of pink.
Dropping the blade onto the bathroom floor, it lands heavily, tipping a few times before it stops completely and I lean my head back onto the back of the bath, the tainted water sloshing gently over my body.
My eyelids grow heavy, a quiet moment of peace washes over me like a gentle summer breeze.
In my hazy state, a face begins to form behind my eyes.
Rich green orbs stare into my broken soul, swirling black ink envelopes his large frame, like they’re one with him and I desperately want to push my fingers into the onyx shapes, to feel the heat radiate through me.
My breath becomes heavy, a tingling sensation washes over me as a dark, forbidden feeling clouds my senses.
But, it’s not the darkness. No, this is different.
More potent and rich, velvet and soft. It has me trailing my fingertips over my pebbled skin, like I’m a puppet on a string, someone to be commanded and I don’t deny it.
I’m safe here, safe to explore and feel this way.
I persevere with my travel over my body, learning my shape like I’m seeing it for the first time.
The way my hips dip like a snowy slope in the Alps, my thighs brushing together, the skin soft and malleable.
A strong, rich voice seeps its way into my ears, the gruffness making me shiver, ordering me to touch myself in a place I so desperately want him to touch.
The thought alone frightens me but my need for release outweighs the terror as I imagine the voice telling me to squeeze and knead my breasts, the heaviness of them is almost too much to bear, but I bring both my hands to my chest, gripping the soft flesh together, causing a breathy moan to slip past my parted lips at the contact.
The voice praises me and I thrive in it.
I’ve never been praised before and it’s something I’m learning to love, to want, to need so I continue to please the voice.
My legs fall open of their own accord and I imagine the strong, veiny forearms pushing them open, baring me to him.
I’m in a state of ecstasy.
My imagination is running wild, conjuring up scenarios of me with the green eyed man.
Scenes flick across my vision as I dip my fingers into my core, the sensitive skin comes alive under my touch and I arch my back, pushing my breasts into the cold air as the erotic feeling fires through my heavy limbs.
Raw, detailed images flash behind my eyelids like an old film.
The man is on his knees before me, begging and pleading for me to give him the release he desperately needs.
The power and control I have over the situation is euphoric, mixing with the building tension in my lower belly as I circle my clit, turning it into a potent cocktail of yearning and lust. Slowly, I dip two fingers inside my pussy and cry out.
Heavy, loud moans bounce around the room, reverberating off the walls, and I can feel my insides beginning to tighten around my fingers, my thumb continuing slow torturous circles around my clit.
I’m sending myself into a tailspin, my stomach flipping and spinning at a million miles an hour as white lights burst behind my eyelids, the oxygen sucked out of my lungs as my orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, drowning me in its wake.
My chest heaves, gasping for breath as I float back down to earth.
The aftermath alone leaves me shaking and exhausted but I need to get ready for work, so that’s exactly what I do, closing the lid tightly on the visions I witnessed. Locking them away forever.
Whilst on my search for a place to live I came across a small clothing shop just outside of town.
Since living out of a holdall bag I needed to buy new clothes so I could wash the ones I’ve been recycling, so after stopping at the quirky shop that was packed to the brim with eccentric clothing, flannel shirts, jeans and mountains of band and horror t-shirts I felt like I’d hit the jackpot once again.
A place where my true character could shine, where no one could tell me not to wear something and that I’d look better in white.
There wasn’t an inch of white in that little shop, it was refreshing.
Plus, I know if I kept on wearing the tattered sweatpants everyday it wouldn’t be long before they fell to bits, which would then lead to me digging out the trousers and blouses I was forced to pack, immediately putting a target on my back for Ricky to see.
After I stumbled upon a local bar in town needing extra waiting staff, I applied on a whim. What else did I have to lose?
Shelly the owner looked at me like I was an alien from another planet, rocking up to the Dive bar in cream trousers and a silk blouse.
I stood out like a sore thumb against the dark and gloomy interior, the floors sticky with a layer of beer.
Even the permanent residents looked like they could eat me alive, but she gave me a chance after I pleaded my case with her.
She gave me a hard stare instead of looking at me like I was an injured dog and I was grateful.
The only thing she asked of me was to burn my blouses in a bonfire and yeah, I couldn’t agree more.
I’ve been at the Runaway Fox for two weeks, the name I felt was very fitting to my current situation.
The hours were long but I needed to keep busy to stop my mind from wandering into dangerous waters and drowning in my heavy thoughts.
The money was pretty good too so I can’t complain.
It keeps me in this apartment and that’s what matters.
I slip my legs into the jeans I chose, pushing my feet into my boots and pull on a long sleeve Metallica t-shirt, the material soft against my tortured arms before running my fingers through my hair, the lengths now reaching the middle of my lower back.
Grabbing the burner phone from the bed, slipping the switch-blade into my back pocket and my car keys in the small kitchen of my apartment, I flick off all the lights and set the alarm system, then close the door behind me, making sure to double check the lock before heading down the short hallway to the stairwell which leads to the main front door of the building.
Pushing the heavy door open I’m met with a warm breeze, the sky still light, washes of pink and orange cover the clear sky in what looks like a watercolour painting.
Even on the outskirts of town the small streets are busy with people enjoying the brighter nights.