Chapter 70 Eliza
Eliza
Seeing her without even having to hear her voice beforehand is something I didn’t think was possible.
Well, I didn’t see anyone saying such about it in my research.
Typically, people who make it out of this house talk about how they were being played with mentally for hours, even days, before Cecilia finally revealed herself to them.
And it’s always someone identifying as a woman whom she’s shown herself to. Cecilia only let’s those with kindred souls out of her grip. I have a running theory she hates men—rightfully so—and that’s exactly why I wanted to stay in this room. I need her and her help.
I don’t want to be selfish and use her like men would.
I’d hate to blatantly come out and ask her for the help, so I’m hoping she uses whatever powers she holds to pull those thoughts out of me and maybe even take it into her hands.
I don’t want to have to kill Banjo with my own hands, but if it comes down to it, I will.
I’m so fucking tired of being a caged bird.
A caged bird he thinks he owns. Primped and pretty, dancing behind silver bars for his enjoyment, and his only.
I want him to learn, and learn very quickly, what it means to fuck with me.
He, like Cecilia, has played with me. Hiding his true colors away, until it was too late.
Though, it’s never been the short game with me either.
I remember the small, what he considers harmless comments, or ones that he must’ve hoped would fly right over my head.
They didn’t—and don’t—and I keep them in the back of my head, folded neatly like love letters neither of us will ever receive.
Each one fueling the fire inside of me. There’s a certain rage that’s boiling over and pouring out of me.
I need to let it out. I need to get away from him. I need the divorce he won’t give me.
These matters could’ve been settled easily. Everything could’ve been as easy as signing a few papers, decide who gets what, and move the fuck on. But no, Banjo couldn’t have made it so simple.
“Your wish is my command, Pretty Bird.” My breath hitches knowing that at the very least she just heard my last thought about being a caged bird. And my hope rises with the possibility that she can help me.
Her deep voice doesn’t match her looks, per se, with her high cheekbones, natural platinum hair, and skin that seems to have little to no pigment—even when she was alive.
But the first thing that drew me to her while I was down the research rabbit hole of all the ghosts that are supposedly in this house, were her green eyes that practically glowed.
She is the picture-perfect woman. So divinely ethereal and exquisitely feminine, but the tone of her voice is so unexpected that I feel my lust for her instantly intensify.
A chill runs down my spine at the thought of some of the other ghosts’ descriptions and what they were capable of while they were alive…
Let’s just hope they don’t come strolling into my room to kill me.
Banjo, they can have, of course. It would be an even sweeter slice of cake if another entity took care of him for us, leaving me with my pretty apparition.
Hell, I’d almost pay them to take his ass.
“Will you help me?” I’m pleading, already, and I’ve just met the woman. Ghost?
What do I call her?
She tilts her head, almost as if mocking my own movements when she showed herself to me. “What possibly could you need my help with?” Now she’s just playing dumb.
Trying to speak in code, just to ensure none of my friends can hear me, or Banjo. “I need help with the thing that came with me.”
She hums like she already knew. “I might be able to help with this little situation you’ve found yourself in.
” She slowly glides from behind the curtains, and they flow out behind her, as if she has thrown them to the side for dramatic effect, but she didn’t.
It’s the air around her, like she’s hovering.
But I can clearly see her stepping and hear her feet hitting the old oak hardwood.
She stands in front of me, surveying me up and down, not missing even an inch of my body with her emerald eyes.
Then, like the beautiful predator she is, she slowly starts to circle me.
I swear I can feel her hand rub my waist as she rounds behind me, but when I turn to see if she is finally touching me, she’s not.
It’s as if she’s crawling around in my brain and body.
That thought should terrify me, rattle me to the bones, but instead, I welcome her in.
I’m not scared; she excites me. I came to this house in hopes of seeing her, or at the very least communicating with her, before we leave at the end of the weekend we planned with our friends, and the fact that she’s showing herself to me already grants all my wishes in one fell swoop.
It was difficult getting here due to the heavy snow falling and the estate being so far off the beaten path, so who knows when we’ll actually be leaving. My only hope is to spend time with her and not Banjo if I’m to be snowed in.
She moves back in front of me, but when I look down, her hands are actually on my thighs this time. She’s holding my hip, gripping it tight enough that I know there will be bruising there in the morning, and just the thought has a moan escaping me.
She slides one hand down my body and whispers, “I’ll do whatever you want, as long as I get to feast on this cunt, Pretty Bird.”
Her directness startles me. Somehow, the ghost part does little to scare me, but her words…