20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Shades of autumn lit up under the morning sun, inspiring my latest painting. I didn’t feel like adding to my unfinished broken heart because today, I had less inspiration for that.
I sat at the window, supplies on my dresser and my paintbrush—a bigger one than yesterday—in hand. It dragged over another white canvas while I sat up here alone, listening to tiny chirping birds, safe from predatory owls by the morning light.
A wave of discomfort rolled in my lower abdomen, caused by my period that started around an hour ago. I shifted, also shifting the toilet paper I had stuffed in my underwear to conceal the bleeding.
Later, I would ask Trix to add tampons to the shopping list, as Mercer hadn’t thought of me needing those.
She had left after our sleepover to prepare brunch, all of us missing her delicious breakfasts, including Ethan, who was here early for a business meeting. Apparently, it was rare for Mercer to work from home, only offering his personal space to artists whose work he desperately wanted.
I was honored he showed appreciation for my talent. My lips curved up, wondering what he would think of this one.
I wanted to see Mercer, and aside from him whizzing by my door while Trix slipped out, I hadn’t today. But I hadn’t failed to notice his gaze creeping around her or his eyes raking over my body for a single second, making me needy for him again.
His expensive suit clinging to his body had my paintbrush venturing into a stray path, ruining the red maple tree and dishonoring the appearance of my inspiration as I got lost in daydreams of him.
The subject judged me through the window.
My shoulders dropped, but I knew I could fix it as I placed it on my dresser with everything else.
Tap, tap, tap. Knuckles rattled my closed door.
“Come in!” My voice was loud, powered by vim and excitement, displayed by my bright smile.
My happy expression dropped to the floor, grabbing my wet paintbrush and taking it with it.
“That’s gonna stain,” Damiano pointed out the obvious.
A crimson spot stared up at me as my eyes dropped to it for no more than a second.
A second that he used to get in front of me. His dirty boots pressed the color into my carpet and snapped my favorite brush. His closeness had his crotch too close to my face. He leaned in closer, and as I tried and failed to back away in my chair, his cotton-covered cock brushed my skin.
My neck, still a little stiff and sore, clicked as I twisted away from him quickly.
His hand came up, and his ringed fingers slapped my cheek. The injury smarted, pain and blood rushing to the surface to form a bruise.
“It’s rude to look away from a guest.”
His face was the image of evil. There was nothing pure in his vile expression. It was cold and hard, with a venomous smile on his lips.
Dirty hands pulled my painting from the dresser, his fingers smudging all the pretty painted leaves on purpose. I just watched, my hands cradling my face, still in shock from the slap.
And then the realization of danger gifted another slap to the face. I was alone. With the one person I feared most in the world.
“I think you should leave now,” I almost stuttered, somehow managing to hide my nerves.
I pushed my wheelchair toward the door, and he gripped one wheel, throwing me from the chair that landed on its side, its wheels spinning.
He threw the painting to the floor next, all my hard work and happiness ruined in one second.
My arms worked hard to drag my body away, but I knew it was useless and pointless, even as I tried harder.
He crouched over me. His violent hands flipped me onto my back and his heavy body pushed down on me.
I gasped, desperate for air. I couldn’t scream. The pressure on my jaws and teeth became too intense as his fingers dug harder into my cheeks, causing blood to leak down them as his dirty nails pierced my skin.
Terror wrapped around me, holding me down for him in this awful position—below him.
His other hand moved between my legs, and I tried harder to scream as he pushed my panties and all the tissue to the side. He laughed about that, guessing what it was, and then his fingers were invading me.
I whimpered, still unable to scream.
My upper body tried to fight, desperation egging me on.
My nails weren’t sharp enough to damage his skin, but I tried...I tried so hard.
The hand on my face grew wet as tears rapidly fell from my eyes. His violent grasp let go, trailing to the loosely fitted breast cups of my nightdress, where he ripped it open. He licked his lips, his perverted gaze locked on my nipple. I closed my eyes in time to avoid watching his tongue lap over it. I kept them squeezed shut to the point of pain as he sucked me into his mouth, his horrible rough tongue flicking over the sensitive spot.
I kept my eyes closed until my small breasts bored him, and I opened them so he’d know no different. My disgust was plastered on my face, held tightly in place by my grinding teeth, grinding harder as his fingers stabbed into me again and again and again.
I wished for a miracle.
I wished for Mercer to come upstairs, and I ignored the pain still echoing on my face to call out, “Mercer!” The plea was muffled by fear and Damiano’s violence.
“He does not care about you. He won’t save you. He raped you, too, remember?
But that was different. Because he was different, to me, regardless of what I was to him.
Another tear rolled from my eye, bringing forth a dare for me to act out.
I didn’t think about it.
I went in for the kill. I went for his eyes and wished my nails were sharper so I could gouge them out.
Pain rattled through him, a gift from my fingertips. He fell back, his hands leaving my body to comfort the eyes he couldn’t open.
I dragged myself across the floor, the carpet punishing me with each inch as if it was on Damiano’s side. Fire spread across my breasts. I’d lugged myself mere inches when he hauled me backward with bloody fingers.
Fast hands rushed for anything to grab onto to stop him from pulling me into his arms. A nail bent and broke, snapping before the free edge and causing immense pain as my fingers slipped off a bedpost. I grappled with something else, failing to see what it was until I swung it behind me, hitting Damiano in his nose with an empty glass bottle of alcohol.
I dropped it on impact, but he somehow caught it. His movements were much quicker than mine as he flipped me back onto my back and yanked me by the ankles so our bodies lined up.
My heart raced. I could almost see it pounding in my ribcage. My hair frizzed behind me, caused by friction from the carpet, as I shook my head, unable to accept what was about to happen.
The sound of his zipper stopped me dead. I froze, air rushing out from my lungs, too fast for me to inhale a good breath, watching as the pompous swollen head of his cock came out in greeting. He fisted himself, his hands rough, his mouth already drooling and grunting.
His anger bent my fingers as I fought to stop him from ripping my panties from my body.
He didn’t care about the blood between my legs. I needed him to stop, so I reached for the bottle again. I struggled to get a good grip when he smashed it under my palm. A piece splintered into my wrist, disappointing me that it wasn’t deep enough to kill me, saving me from a worse fate. He grabbed a bigger shard. I panicked as its ridged end moved closer to me, and I screamed as loud as I fucking could.
They were late. Of course, they were. In my experience, the best artists rarely showed up on time. It was like they knew you would cancel your plans because they had what you wanted. The medical field wouldn’t have this issue, my internal thoughts reminded me.
I wandered back to the house from the custom outdoor office at the far side of the lake. A pretty wooden building that, in reality, was no more than a glorified shed that had been decorated nicely.
Curiosity over what Feebee was painting today pulled me in...but I also wanted to avoid Nonna, who had made her way into the office and was interrupting Ethan, who paced back and forth, flustered with the constant voicemail he got during every attempt at getting ahold of Damiano. The guy was fucking late today, and unlike the artist, I had no desire to offer him leniency.
I lingered by a set of shelves behind my sofa, growing irritated by the sound of the food mixer—that Nonna had left running—making its way in from the kitchen. A photo sat atop the shelf. Chandelle, watching my every move. A necklace she loved hung over the silver frame...a blue heart. Some would say it looked like one from a very famous movie. I would say it resembled my own. Blue and cold, often in need of thawing. I examined the silver chain between my fingers, wondering why it had been left here to collect dust.
A noise from upstairs grabbed my attention. My eyes moved, acting as if they had the power to see through thick ceilings.
Paranoia...a dangerous fucking thing.
I could run up there now, and Feebee would look at me stupidly again, wondering why I was so panicked over her squealing over a stiff neck...like yesterday. The truth was, I always thought the worst these days...thought she could have had a serious fall...an injury.
I tried to ignore the niggling in my brain that told me something was up. And I managed to do that for about six seconds. I tapped some buttons on my smartwatch, the device already connected to the cameras in the house, and I saw life through the camera in the eyes of a stuffed toy—a little brown bear in red overalls. I saw Feebee’s room, but I couldn’t see her from this angle.
My stomach dropped, seeing her pink wheelchair sidewards on the floor. Another sound echoed. My feet moved before my brain caught up, and then another noise—a soul-crushing scream of a woman in absolute terror.
“Mercer!”
I bolted up the stairs, long legs rushing up three at a time, and I rounded the corner, falling through her door because my feet moved too fucking quickly.
I froze for a second, and my brain finally caught up, registering that Damiano was in the house, that Feebee was on the floor, and he was stabbing into her with his ugly fucking dick.
A giant piece of glass was pressed to her throat, making her eyes roll back, hiding the terror in them. They finally found mine. I hadn’t heard her fearful screams over the fucking mixer—which had conveniently stopped—and Ethan and Nonna squabbling about pointless shit.
“Please...stop him.”
I didn’t even fucking hear her. I didn’t hear the laugh that Damiano had the nerve to release when my eyes landed on him.
All I heard was white noise.
My limbs moved through the motions, my foot kicking at the shard in Damiano’s hand before my hands dragged Feebee out from under him, freeing her of his invading cock.
I spun around with her in my arms, delivering a kick to the side of his head. Dropping her on the bed, she huddled beneath the sheets, hiding her nudity. Her gold nightdress in tatters, still hanging off her shoulders, made her look small and vulnerable. And so did her fucking tears. I brushed a soft thumbpad over a bruise on her cheek, smearing tears into her skin.
She clutched my wrist with both hands, her touch fearful and frail, as I leaned down on the bed. My nostrils flared, the heat from my anger giving her cold body a little warmth. My jaw ticked, infuriated as I heard him stir. I hated that I hated to do it, especially with the “please don’t” falling from her trembling lips repeatedly, but I gently peeled her touch from me.
“I need you,” she begged.
My shoulders rose and fell as I fumed in silence. I picked up the shard of glass that had been held to her throat, and I placed it in her hand for protection before I careened to Damiano, who was stumbling to his feet, those ugly fucking boots covering them, as always.
He pushed his bloody cock into his pants and zipped them up. “I thought I’d test her out, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’m clean.”
My eyebrows lifted. My eyes widened, furious by the words I fucking heard. Those were it for him. His final fucking words. Not giving him time to say more, I launched myself at him, and my fist drove into his ugly fucking face. His head bounced off the window, causing a slight crack in the glass.
But he was stronger than me, with twice as much muscle, and his body spun us around. He slammed an elbow into my ribs, and I hit the window, too, shattering the fucking thing and almost falling out of it.
“Mercer!” Feebee screamed, with panic and concern.
A single look her way, witnessing firsthand how frightened she was, changed everything. I hated that she was so frightened. Hated that Damiano was the fucking reason. I saw her sitting there through a vision of red, and because of it, I threw my whole weight at Damiano, and he hit one of the four posts of her bed, toppling onto it and landing on her legs.
She screamed, desperate to get away, but he was too heavy. Her eyes flew to me, watching as I picked up her broken paintbrush and stabbed it into the cock that had violated her.
He screamed so fucking loudly, and then he writhed toward the edge of the bed, allowing Feebee the freedom to drag herself away.
Her spine pressed against the wooden headboard, and her arms dragged her knees to her chest. No part of her wanted to be near him.
He kept writhing, moving until his heavy body fell from the bed and hit the floor. Red blood from his cock spewed out onto the carpet, which was now definitely fucking ruined. I dragged him up from the ground, pulling out the paintbrush that left splinters in his skin. My knee met his bleeding dick as he slumped against the doorway, clutching himself. My elbow met his nose. My fist, his temple.
He was a mess of purple and red, and I still kept hitting him. I couldn’t fucking stop, not even when I heard bones crack in his face. Stained teeth fell from his mouth, words that made no sense tried to do the same.
A punch directly to the mouth shut him up, and he choked on one of those rotten teeth. The impact cracked my knuckles, but I didn’t care. I just kept hitting him, raw fury pushing me. Punch after punch until he couldn’t open his eyes.
I wanted him gone. Now. I didn’t punch him again. Bringing the splintered edge of the paintbrush up, I jabbed it into his eye socket, straight into his useless brain, and then I pulled it and his eye out in one move.
He struggled for a few seconds, lunging for me one final time, but I was done, and so was he. He landed one punch to my face, causing my nose to bleed. Our fight moved us from the support of the doorframe to the floor with the cunt on top of me. I kicked the prick straight in the stomach, and he fell through the banister, ruining the classic décor of the second floor.
I caught my breath, then raced to look down at the body below. The urge to spit on his corpse was intense, but I fought it and backtracked into Feebee’s room. My nose dripped blood onto the carpet, but neither of us cared. I wiped at the blood with the back of my hand and continued to her on trembling legs.
Now that it was just us, her pain and fear fucking strangled me, making it hard to get to her.
She was still on the bed, still buried beneath the sheets I peeled from her. I sat close to her toes and touched her face, and she leaned into me, both of our breathing still manic.
I claimed the shard from her bleeding hand, my mind registering more than one injury as I placed it on the bedside table with a small clunk before pulling her onto my legs, jerking her until her thighs landed on my hips.
She didn’t fight me. Her tiny hands clawed at my shirt and jacket, leaving a bloody trail as she tried to hang on, disheveling my now manic image a little more. We bled all over each other. Her chest was red from my nose injury. My throat harbored crimson from her little hands. I smothered her in my hold, and I must have done it too fucking tight because she crumbled to fucking pieces.
I left the bed, needing to be out of this room, but I only made it to the hallway before her sobs forced me to my knees.