Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“I live down the street, and I just got out of work, but I wanted to say hi and drop this off for you. It’s a list of trustworthy contractors in the area, in case you ever want work done.
It’s hard to find good help these days.” The baby stirs in his arms. It’s skin, tan like his father’s, and his thick eyebrows and hairline are the same.
I imagine he’s an exact duplicate of him at that same age.
“Oh, umm, this is my son, Timothy. I just picked him up from the sitters.”
A small part of me is jealous of whoever made such a beautiful creature with such a handsome man, knowing it will never be me.
There’s an awkward silence between us, neither knowing what to say. Just as he opens his mouth to say more, I pull the paper from between his fingers, manage to squeak out a ‘thank you’, and swing the door around.
At first, I sense him still on the other side of the door. I press my ear against it, listening to see if he says anything else, but all I hear is a sigh, then the creaking of my stairs and footsteps growing further away.
A part of me feels disappointed, and I think it was the first time all day that I wanted someone to ring the doorbell or knock.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I haven’t felt like this about anyone, ever.
He made me feel starstruck, as if I were meeting a celebrity for the first time.
I collapse back on the couch and read the paper on my lap. At the bottom of the page, a handwritten message points an arrow to a name farther up the page.
This is me, and here’s my cell if you ever need anything.
The arrow points to Bellagio Painting and Repairs.
What I need is to sit on his fucking face and let him fuck me.
No, Tessa. He can’t be one of your victims. He’s a dad, a neighbor, and a seemingly nice person. Just shake it off and stop thinking about him.
But I can’t. I want to, but every time I close my eyes, he’s there, taking me into my bedroom and throwing me down on my bed.
What am I missing here? I have someone who protects me, fucks me, and lets me fuck others at the low cost of their soul instead of mine, and I find myself sitting here wanting more.
Needing more.
My fingers travel between my legs, and I close my eyes, touching myself but imagining it’s him. I clench my fist, taking my hand away from my clit and shaking it off.
I can’t think about him this way. Not only because he seems like a family man, working, picking up his baby from the sitters, and caring for his neighbors, but because I know nothing good will ever come of it.
Of us.
Not being able to have him creates a void inside of me.
But why? Is it because I’m yearning for a family?
To be a mother despite knowing I can never have children.
Is that part of why I feel so empty inside?
Because I see a family or any sort of happily ever after was taken off the table the minute I signed my life away, giving it to Mastyx?
Stop it.
I push thoughts of him and what my future could have been back into the depths of my brain. Fantasizing about David is all I can ever do. I can never have a husband, a family, or anything that resembles true love.
Mastyx would never allow it. Our arrangement is all that matters now. He gets what he wants, and so do I.
Sort of.
A part of me wonders what would happen if I truly fell for someone, someone who makes me feel like breaking the contract with Mastyx is worth more to me than my life. Would he drag me to hell and kill them out of spite?
I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. I have to keep everything superficial with anyone I meet. My desires for them need to be kept in check. Mastyx will always be the only one for me, like it or not, this is what I signed up for.
? ? ?
Time can be a fickle bitch.
It’s been two years. Two years that I’ve watched seasons, people, and families come and go, and a small part of me aches for a normal life.
David passes by my house every day, taking his son Timothy for a walk around the block after work and on the weekends, holding his small hand.
I gaze down at my manicured fingers and picture a child’s hand clutching them, taking a walk of our own. Sometimes it makes me sad and a little jealous, if I’m being honest, that I will never carry or have a child of my own.
I’m not sure I’m deserving enough to be a parent. Who would want me, a killer, with a demon lover as a mom?
Lovers…that’s what we are to each other now after all this time.
The day Mastyx called me my Love instead of my Little Sinner, changed things inside me.
It gave me a small amount of hope that he cares enough about me that he may not drag me to his fiery lair one day for doing something he perceives as breaking our binding contract.
My red 2005 Audi A4 gleams, a fresh wax job reflecting the sunshine into my eyes.
Business has been good. Real good. It’s a used car, but it sure beats the hell out of the shit-box ’88 Nova.
Ever since I started harvesting the bones of my victims, my business has skyrocketed.
Who knew there were so many twisted fucks like me in the world?
The elderly neighbor nods and offers a subtle smile as he unloads groceries from his trunk.
I don’t usually spend much time outside on the porch; it screams, “Come and talk to me,” to everyone, and I don’t care to socialize or make friends, but it’s a pleasant seventy-five degrees with a slight breeze, so I’m soaking up a small amount of unseasonably warm weather for January before Mother Nature decides to send a cold front from Canada down our way.
I take a swig of my coffee, the heat and caffeine, sending a wave of pleasure to my brain and belly.
The new grinder coffee maker combo my parents got me for my birthday is a godsend.
Until now, I never realized how a freshly ground bean could make a cup of coffee taste so much better.
I’ll never go back to pods or a regular drip maker for that matter.
It’s funny how, as people mature, we learn to appreciate appliances over other trivial things.
A woman, swinging arms with a little girl on the sidewalk, slows down at the end of my walkway. She bends down, the little girl cupping her hands, whispering in her mother’s ear. The woman glances up at me, smiles, and nods before swiping her palm through her daughter’s long, golden locks.
I set my coffee cup aside and stand as the little girl enters my walkway, skipping toward me, a bundle of pansies in her hand.
She swipes a wayward lock of hair out of her mouth and holds the flowers out to me. “My mommy said I can give these to you.”
A lump crowds my throat. No one has ever given me flowers before. Not my ex from high school, Jayce, not my mom, even though she grows prized rose bushes in her yard, no one.
I wrap my fingers around the flowers and kneel before her. “Thank you.”
My body stiffens as she hugs me without warning.
I find myself slowly melting into her the longer she holds me captive in my own yard, her love seeping into me, like a cure.
I wrap my arms around her, hugging her back before her mom shuffles down the walkway and reaches her hand out.
“It’s time to go, Hazel. Let the poor woman go. ”
Hazel’s hands fall away from my neck, and suddenly I feel cold. “Make sure you put them in water.” Her blue eyes twinkle in the sun when she turns away from me and shields them from the rays. “Bye, pretty lady,” she says before skipping back down the walkway.
I stand, grab my coffee cup, and push my front door open, leaning against it once it’s closed. A tear races down my face, and a fresh wave of sadness sucks the life out of me. My back slides down the door until I reach the floor, where I sit with pink and purple pansies resting on my legs.