Chapter 8 Everett
EIGHT
EVERETT
When you spend most of your life in total isolation, you start to see things that aren’t there. I wasn’t allowed to have friends or go to school. I didn’t need to have a brain. That would lead to me having ideas and opinions, and no Lord wants that from a woman.
I was eight years old when I started seeing my make-believe friend. I knew she wasn’t real, but I didn’t care. She didn’t speak to me at first, but her presence was enough. She wasn’t beaten or raped. She was different, a figment of my imagination.
She was who I wished I was—a kid who got to have a life. Who always had her hair done and got to wear cute outfits.
I was lonely, and she was there for me, always hovering in the corner, willing to listen to me talk or cry. I told her everything. Who the fuck was she going to tell? No one else could see her.
Eleven years old
It’s one of those rare days when I get to walk the halls. My father didn’t lock me in my room, and I’m taking full advantage of it. I push open the door to the staircase and start to walk up them. I like to go to the upper level and look out the window.
Getting to the top floor, I push open the door to the large room. It’s got an entire wall of windows. I make my way over to them and place my hands on the glass, staring out.
This is the best view in the whole place. It makes me think that there is something other than this hell. I can see for miles. So many trees, nothing but woods. It’s the prettiest when it’s wintertime and covered in snow. If I look closely, I can see animal tracks.
But it’s currently summertime. The sun is out, and everything is green. No clouds to be seen.
The glass is warm on my fingers, and I press my forehead to it. Closing my eyes, I imagine what it’d be like to go outside and breathe fresh air. It’s not allowed. I’m not sure why. Where would I go? What would I do?
A sound has me spinning around, expecting my father to be standing there, but he’s not. It’s my imaginary friend. She comes and goes. Sometimes I dream of her. And we’re playing tag outside. Or having a tea party. I’ve never gotten to have one of those.
“Hi.” I smile at her. I love it when she visits me.
The first time I saw her, my father’s friend called me crazy and said I needed professional help. Thankfully, my father blew her off, and I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about what I see.
To my surprise, she steps forward and smiles at me. She’s always pretending I don’t exist, and that’s okay. Her presence is enough. “Want to play with me?” the girl asks.
“Yeah,” I answer without hesitation. Unable to contain my excitement, I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go downstairs,” she suggests.
My face falls. “I’m not allowed to go down there,” I tell her sadly. I knew it was too good to be true. “I’ll get in trouble.”
She tilts her head to the side. Her long blond hair is in two braids that hang down her shoulders and chest, only stopping at her stomach. So pretty.
I wish mine looked like hers. I only get to wash mine twice a week. It remains dirty and short. Pieces are always breaking off, and my father said it needs to be cut.
Her vibrant eyes glance at my clothes, and her lips pull back with disgust. I wrap my arms around myself, instantly insecure. “Why are you dressed like that?” she asks.
“It’s what my father laid out for me today.” I don’t get to choose what I wear.
“Why?”
I shrug. “It’s what he likes me to wear.” It’s as simple as that. I’ve never questioned it. At least I get to wear clothes today.
“Come on.” She waves her arm and turns toward the door.
I stay where I’m at, with my arms folded across my chest, biting my lip nervously. “I shouldn’t…”
She rolls her eyes. “No one will see you. It’ll be fun. Come on.”
Fun? I’ve never had fun. “Someone is always watching,” I decide to say. It’s not worth getting beaten over. Especially since she’s not even real. Turning my back to the window, I hear the door open, and I know she’s left me.
“Talking to yourself again?”
I spin back around to see that my father has entered and my imaginary friend is long gone. Poof. Like magic. Because she doesn’t exist.
My father isn’t alone. He has that same woman with him. The brunette who’s always dressed in a tight-fitting dress and heels.
“Did you ever get her—”
“Don’t start,” he interrupts her.
“Seriously.” She places her hands on her narrow hips. “The girl could be a danger to herself. I have someone she can talk to.”
“I already know who you’re going to suggest, so save it.” He places his attention on me and orders, “Get back to your room.”
My shoulders drop, and I let out a long breath. “Yes, sir,” I say through the knot forming in my throat as I pass by him and through the door.
I decide to take the stairs because the elevator will be too quick. I hate my room. It’s too quiet.
Pushing open the door on my level, I step into the hall and come to a stop. The girl stands outside my door, staring at me with a blank look on her face. “Maybe next time, we can play,” I tell her, but just like all the other times, she ignores me.
Entering my room, I climb onto the bed and curl up into a ball. I have a bathroom, but there are no mirrors. There are no towels or toilet paper. My father brings those things in when he decides I need to bathe or use the restroom.
I’m a prisoner here. The worst part is I hate being alone. I just wish there was someone for me to talk to. Someone to play with. I just want to be seen and heard.
KASHTON
Twelve years old
I sit on the concrete floor with my legs crossed. It’s late. The sun will be up soon, and I’ll have to go home, but I needed to see her. To see how she’s doing.
“I brought you some milk,” I tell her. This time I came prepared.
She sits in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest. She rests her head on them, and her matted dark hair covers her face.
I turn the plate long ways to slide it through the bars and set it on the floor as close to them as I can. Then take the cup of milk and pour it onto the ceramic dish.
“I had to pour it onto a plate, but I got you a straw.” I pull it out of my pocket. “Sorry, I must have smashed it,” I say, trying to straighten it out.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” she whispers.
I wrap my fingers around the cold bars and press my face to it, smashing my cheeks. I’m thankful she’s not dead. I’ve been here for several minutes, and she hasn’t moved. I can’t even hear her breathing. “I wanted to see you.”
She looks up, and I smile at her. Slowly, she gets to her hands and knees, and I hold my breath while she crawls across the concrete floor.
When she gets to the plate, her shaking hands pick it up, and some spills over the edge before she can get it to her cracked lips.
She tilts the plate and drinks the milk, spilling more on her naked body than she actually swallows.
Once done, she gasps and pushes it back under the bottom bar. “Thank you.”
I feel bad that I didn’t bring her more. Silence falls over us, and my eyes scan the cell, not wanting to leave her yet. “What are all the lines?”
She looks over her shoulder and answers, “Those are tallies.”
“What are they for?” I inquire.
“I make one every time I think of you,” she tells me.
My wide eyes meet hers. “That’s…a lot.”
“You’re always on my mind, Kashton.”
I’m lying on my stomach, butt-ass naked, in my bedroom at Carnage. The curtains are pulled closed, and the covers are shoved to the foot of the bed. My TV is on some random channel. I’m trying to go back to sleep after I had to crawl out of bed to piss an hour ago. I’m tired and hungover.
So much has happened in the past few weeks, and I’m still trying to comprehend what I refuse to believe.
Adam is gone. Again. Dead to the world, but not really.
He faked his death. Haidyn is married, and his wife is expecting triplets, and the woman of my dreams has been right here under my nose for God knows how long. And she’s possibly a trained assassin.
Since I started following her, I haven’t seen her with another man. Not one she hasn’t killed, anyway.
If she’s in a relationship, it doesn’t make a difference. If I even think there’s someone in her life, they’re dead. My future wife can’t have someone on the side. All she’ll ever need is me.
And then there’s Sin. I’ve ruined my relationship with him, and he’ll probably never speak to me again. I get that. I fucked up.
On days like this, I just want to stay in bed and do nothing.
The lock on my door clicks, and I groan at being bothered. It’s either Haidyn or Saint. Their wives don’t know the access code to get in.
“What do you want?” I ask, not even bothering to turn my head to see who it is.
“It’s noon,” Haidyn says.
“And?” I ask, pulling the pillow over my head to cover my eyes when he flips on the light.
“Why are you naked in bed this late in the day?” he asks.
Because after I found out Adam was still alive, I tried to fix my relationship with Sin, and when he pretty much told me to go fuck myself, I went and got hammered.
Not the smartest thing, but drowning my sorrows sounded good.
Plus, I was hoping my girl would show up at the biker bar.
She never did. Guess she didn’t have a job last night.
Probably a good thing. Otherwise, I would have made a fool of myself.
“Kash?” Haidyn barks, getting my attention.
He’s not going to go away.
Letting out a growl, I shove the pillow away and flip onto my back. “Why are you holding a cat?” I ask. He stands next to my bed with Charlotte’s pussy cradled in his arm like a football. His free hand slowly rubs over it like it’s a lamp with a genie inside to grant him three wishes.
Haidyn ignores my question and runs his blue eyes over my naked body. I rolled onto my back hoping it would make him uncomfortable, and he’d leave. Wishful thinking. We’ve seen enough dicks in our lives. Especially each other’s.