Page 16 of Cryptic Dreams
No, please. Please stop. Please, someone save me.
The thoughts run through my head on a loop, words I can’t say screamed inside my head while this terrible human takes away the last shreds of my hope for a better future, and just when I start trying to envision my happy place—anyplace that isn’t here—he stops.
“We should go,” he says almost robotically. “We should go and leave the female alone.”
Kyle squeezes me harder and begins to protest but that stops too, the squeezing and the protesting. “Yeah. Yeah, Stu, we should go and never bother her again.”
What in the actual hell is happening?
Kyle lets go of me completely as both men start picking up the contents of my purse, something I still can’t bring myself to watch head on but my eyes are open enough to see that they even make sure my broken phone ends up inside my bag. Then Stu pulls out his wallet, takes all the cash from it and puts it into mine.
“For the phone,” he says evenly.
Seriously, what the hell is happening?
They take a few minutes to make sure none of my belongings are on the sidewalk then they step around me and start walking the same direction they did the first time I ran into them. Walking away as if none of this even happened, as if I’m not even here.
And I’m completely flabbergasted.
When their footsteps are far enough behind me, I turn around—looking for what, I don’t know—but no one else is there. The street is deserted, not even a car on the pavement. I squint into the darkness and try to see what could have caused such an abrupt change in those two men but again, there’s nothing.
“Hurry, love.”
Goosebumps erupt over every inch of my skin as those words are whispered on the wind, a gentle caress of warmth in such a cold and dark moment.
“Cover yourself and hurry. The sun will be up soon.”
I nod absently while my eyes try to find the source of that gorgeous voice, my hands moving to follow the soft command.
“That’s a good girl. Hurry, love.”
My body shivers as I pull my blouse closed and wrap my sweater tighter around myself, pushing my skirt back into place. I slowly throw my purse over my shoulder and start walking backwards, hoping and wishing I could catch just a glimpse of whoever it is that voice belongs to.
But I don’t.
The voice stops and seemingly vanishes in the wind and when this heavy, ridiculous disappointment settles into my bones, I face the direction of my house and start sprinting toward it.
Hopefully,heisn’t up.
I can’t handle dealing with him right now, can’t handle another beating or more horrible words. I just want to go inside, set out his things and lock myself in my room so I can cry myself to sleep until it’s time to do this all over again.
And once I’m inside that house of horrors, that’s exactly what I do.
5
New Hobby
WRAITH
Well, I do believe I have stooped to a new low, even for me.
Perhaps not anew lowper se, but I’m definitely giving merit to the stereotype that the moving pictures like to portray vampires living in New Orleans.
Lurking in the shadows.
Remaining unseen while keeping a watchful eye on the city.
Stalking my prey with all the stealth and silence I can muster.
