Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 90276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
I pulled my shirt over my head, folded it neatly and placed it in front of me. I felt the subtle change in air, heard his quiet steps as he moved toward me.
He never asked if I wanted to change my mind.
He never asked if I was sure.
He did what I asked him.
I didn’t know his past, but I saw it lingering in the depths of his eyes—the bleak darkness.
He found me when I was lost. Brought me back from the pit of fear and desolation.
He showed me how to survive. To bury the fear and replace it with strength. The only thing he could never get me to let go of was Deck.
Deck was embedded, carved into my bones. One part of me that wouldn’t be repressed.
A tear slipped from the safety of my eye and trailed down my cheek. I wasn’t embarrassed or tried to hide it. This was why I came here.
He stepped closer.
I closed my eyes and more tears fell.
He crouched behind me. I swallowed and kept my hands perfectly still on my lap. It was the familiar clang of his belt being unbuckled that caused the bile to rise in the back of my throat. I took several deep breaths.
I felt him hesitate as if giving me a moment then his unforgiving grip grabbed my wrist and yanked it behind my back. Then he grabbed the other one. I sucked in air at the strain on my arms then relaxed again as he tightened the belt around my wrists. I fell forward, my cheek pressed into the rough planks, exactly like it had been before. It didn’t take long before the memory flooded into me.
The first cut always hurt the most and he made it the deepest and the longest; a slow drag of his dull knife from my hip at my lower back, curving across to just below my armpit. He kept the flat of his palm on my neck, pressing me forward, keeping my cheek pressed into the floor. I felt the rain of blood slide down my heated skin. He wiped it away with a piece of coarse material as if he was cleaning the drips of paint off a canvas.
He cursed. I jerked. His palm pressed harder on my neck and I could feel the ache in my joints as I curled over, further exposing my naked back to him.
I held onto my sobs. It only made it worse when I moved and I had to stay as still as possible. He’d get mad if I ruined his work.
I knew what was next. My body knew and I couldn’t control the trembling. He punched me in the side and I gasped, falling over then quickly righting myself in position again.
“Stupid bitch. Stay fucking still.”
I felt the slap of the wet material hit the fresh wound. I couldn’t control the cry from escaping. I always cried when he did that. I never could block out the pain.
He laughed, the sound like the screech from a badly played banjo.
Then a filthy, black rag, which tasted like oil was shoved in my mouth so forcefully I gagged.
“Not a sound. I told you. No crying. No moving.” He leaned over me so I could see the evil glare in his light-brown eyes. “Your big brother isn’t around to protect you now, is he? I heard he burned to death.” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “Real painful way to die.”
I silently cried, trying to block out his voice, yet his words cut into me just as painfully as his knife.
He lowered his voice, his peppered breath sweeping across my face. “A blank canvas. That’s what you were. Not anymore. Now, you’re stained.”
His knife drew some kind of design on my back and then pinpricks as if he was making snowflakes. “The perfect little princess isn’t perfect anymore.” My eyes squeezed shut so hard the tears couldn’t escape. The pungent smell of alcohol hit my flesh and slid into my cuts again. Scotch. It was always scotch. I’d never forget that smell.
His breath hit the side of my neck and I gasped, shivering from the pain and fear that coursed through me. “Did you know I got an A in art? The teacher said I had a unique imagination.”
He suddenly yanked me upward by my hair. “Do you know why you were picked, Georgie?”
I shook my head. He was a senior, and I’d never seen him before last month when he first dragged me into the school’s maintenance shed.
“Didn’t think so. Just consider yourself lucky I didn’t pick you myself.” He ran his finger down between my breasts then chuckled when I squirmed to escape his touch. I heard a bang outside the window at the back of the shed and he stiffened and looked up then laughed. “Stupid boy.” He grabbed my chin, tilting my head at an awkward angle so I was looking right at him. “No telling anyone about our little art session, right? You don’t want to lose another … family member, do you?”