Die, My Love
Page 11
The girls pass me and it grates on my nerves how they resume their giggling. Brats. Their fathers shouldn’t let them out of the house dressed the way they are, especially with the likes of me and my brothers prowling the streets. It’s freezing cold and yet they’re dressed in thin skirts, their legs bare, open jackets revealing cleavage and tight little nipples showing straight through the thin fabric of their slutty tops. My palm itches to spank some sense into their little asses. I flex my hand.
It’s been way, way too long since I’ve had a woman to punish.
Control.
Master.
These girls are too young and silly for a man like me.
Sadie is perfect.
My cock hardens with anticipation, and I shift on my seat.
I know everything about her. She pays her meager bills on time, and despite her paltry wage, contributes to the local food pantry with items bought with coupons she clips and sale items she purchases. Money will never be a concern for her again, but I like that she’s fastidious. She reads books during every free moment of time she has, some non-fiction, but most historical romance books. That amuses me about her. She dresses like an amateur nun, but her heroines dress in swaths of silk and jewels. She carries a hard-covered book with her in the bag she holds by her side, and guards it with her life. During her break time, before bed, and when she first wakes up in the morning, she writes in it. I don’t know yet what she writes, but I will. She does something with needles and yarn, knitting or something. I enjoy watching her weave fabric with the vibrant threads.
She fidgets when she’s near a man, especially attractive, powerful men. Men like me.
I’ve never seen her pick up a cell phone or talk to a friend. She’s a loner in every sense of the word.
I went over the plan again this morning with Dimitri.
Capture the girl.
Marry her.
Take her inheritance.
Get rid of her.
I swallow another sip of coffee and watch Sadie through the sliding glass doors of the library.Today she’s wearing an ankle-length navy skirt that hits the tops of her shoes, and she’s wrapped in a bulky gray cardigan the color of dirty dishwater. I imagine stripping the clothes off of her and revealing her creamy, bare, unblemished skin. My dick gets hard when I imagine marking her pretty pale skin. Teeth marks. Rope marks. Reddened skin and puckered flesh, christened with hot wax and my palm. I’ll punish her for the sin of hiding a body like hers. She won’t be allowed to with me.
She’s so little. So virginal. An unsullied canvas.
“Enjoy your last taste of freedom, little girl,” I whisper to myself before I finish my coffee. I push myself to my feet and cross the street.
It’s time she met her future master.
One Click The Bratvas Baby here!
Awake
By Ashleigh Giannoccaro
I hope you don’t mind, but I let myself in, I had a key — well I found a key and used it. The door makes a squealing sound when it opens, don’t worry, I’ll oil the hinges for you tomorrow while you’re at work. It won’t take long, I promise. I’ll be in and out, you won’t even know I was here.
I talk to her inside my head, she left her laptop on, and her half finished glass of wine has a pink lipstick stain on the brim. Pink and orange sticky notes are stuck to every part of the table and around the screen of the computer. Touching the trackpad, I take a seat where she was sitting on the suede sofa, it’s soft and silent. The screen flickers on and leaves her whole world open to me, photos, Facebook, Instagram even her bank statements are open. It’s like every tab of her life is there tempting me, just one click away. The temptations, there are so many in here, but this will be the quietest so I start by opening her Facebook page and scrolling through her posts, pictures and friends. You can learn a lot from who a person blocks on social media, and she has only one on her list.
What did Maxwell C. Stone do to deserve that block? He looks like a good guy.
He’s in some of her old photographs, holding hands, hugging, cheek kisses and other pathetic selfies. I’m glad to see her need to photograph her own face has died since then, selfies are such a vile habit. I pick up her glass and sip the wine she didn’t finish, the rich Merlot slides smoothly down my throat. She has good taste in wine. The perfect pout of her lips is outlined on the glass, the pink of her lipstick remains there, leaving a piece of her behind. I lick it off, tasting her. It’s waxy but sweet, and melts on my tongue with the next sip of wine. Moving on from Facebook, I look at all the other open tabs and documents on her computer. Her calendar pops up with a reminder, look how organized she is. Every detail of every day outlined down to the last five minutes. An alarm is set for eleven that says ‘take your sleeping pill and go to bed’ how efficient. I wonder why she needs that pill, her life seems so perfect. My attention skips from the screen to the Post-it notes she has tacked on to everything. Names, dates, numbers, and appointments already in the calendar. The green ones though -- they’re different.
* * *
Don’t call him.
* * *
He’s not worth it.
* * *
You deserve better Ivy!
* * *
He smelled like sandalwood and leather
* * *
His hair was always perfect
* * *
His kisses were like cold water after a long run
* * *
He hurt you
* * *
Don’t be stupid
These green ones are scattered between her other thoughts randomly, like she needs them to remind her of this heartache. I pluck them off, each one, stick them together and put them in my shirt pocket. She should really forget things like that, she doesn’t need to think about him anymore. She will have plenty of other things to distract her. I smile and finish the last of the wine in her glass, putting it down where she had left it on a coaster that says ‘keep calm’ on it.
The small taste of wine has made me want more, I’m not done with my fact finding mission, so I go to her small kitchenette. The radio is playing softly, and I get the impression she’s not fond of silence. Changing the station, I glance around at the spotlessly clean surfaces. The white and stainless steel appliances are all polished to a shine. In the corner, just like in the living room there is a small lamp that has been left on.
Are you afraid of the dark? Is that why you need a pill to go to sleep? Don’t worry, I don’t like the dark either. The music makes it so you won’t hear things go bump in the night, most people these days leave the TV on, but you don’t have one. Why not?
The open bottle of wine has been re-corked and stands on the counter beside the bowl of neatly arranged fruit. The one shiny red apple among the green ones calls to me, I take it and the wine back to the comfortable sofa. Shifting the throw pillows so that I’m comfortable, I put my feet up and bite the crunchy apple. I put down my wine and grab the small, black, leather-bound notebook from beside her computer. A number two pencil falls out onto my chest as I flip it open, every page is filled with doodles. Just black and white scribbles that cover every inch of every page. Cute cats, and monsters with knives, there’s no theme at all. Food, flowers, and even faces fade into one another, making a never-ending animation of her life. It’s like seeing inside her head while she dreams. I flip backwards from today’s pictures to the front of the book where the gold embossed print says DREAM JOURNAL in block letters. She has scribbled a black cloud around the words and the rain falling from it is little frogs that are dying in animated ‘pops’ on the ground. The picture makes me smile, what must she see in her dreams? I am jealous of her. What I wouldn’t give to close my eyes and dream, just for one night. To feel the weight of fatigue lifted and being able to fall down the sinkhole of unconsciousness, to turn off my mind just once, that would be bliss.
Sleep is a distant memory, something I have learned to live without, sometimes this insomnia induced madness makes me wonder if
I shouldn’t take a pill like she did. The fear of never waking up stops me.
I finish my apple while admiring Ivy’s art, and seeing inside her thoughts. Placing the apple core and empty glass on the table, I look once more at her laptop, checking the files last saved.
* * *
Report.
* * *
That must be for her Eight-thirty am meeting. I delete it, and all traces of it from her computer with a smile that makes my cheeks ache. I get up and make sure to leave the sofa as it was, making sure my visit is only noticeable in the subtle clues. Just enough to make her think, not enough that she can’t question her own sanity.
I wipe my hands on the guest towel in the small bathroom, before I take the three steps down the hall to stand in her open doorway. Her dressing gown is in a pile on the floor, I want to pick it up and fold it.
Not tonight. I’ll let you sleep soundly tonight, maybe when I visit again I can clean up your room. You shouldn’t leave that water bottle on your nightstand open, it could get knocked over and wet your phone. If you braid your hair it wouldn’t get in your face like that, and everyone knows if you go to bed in a tank top you’ll wake up with a boob hanging out. Maybe you should wear some proper pajamas, they do say you get better sleep in comfortable sleepwear. I worry those pills aren’t good for you. Think about more natural remedies for that overactive mind of yours Ivy.
Again, I talk to her inside my head, she is fast asleep. The drugs make sure she doesn’t sense me at all, they comatose her until morning. The little red clock illuminated next to her bed, she sets an alarm everyday. I’ll let her be on time —today.
Read Awake for Free here!
More FREE Books!
Beautifully Primal by Zoe Blake
* * *
Awake by Ashleigh Giannoccaro
Born to Be Bound by Addison Cain
Counsellor by Celia Aaron