He’d been nothing but a kid — both of them had been kids.
I wasn’t heartless; I understood that he was a monster in the making, if his notes were anything to go by; she should have run away rather than encouraged it. What type of girl stays in an abusive relationship like that? In my mind, she should have seen the writing on the wall. All I had to go off was the journal… the journal of a lunatic, and I was only halfway through that specific piece of evidence.
“Whatever. She’s not coming,” I said to myself then started my truck, just in time to see a flash of dark hair. Pausing, I watched, praying she would turn around.
And when she did, I swear I almost choked on my tongue.
Lovely.
She was absolutely lovely.
When she’d run off the other day, she’d looked a bit stressed, and her hair was longer then. Now it was short, elongating her neck, showing off her sharp chin, full lips, and gorgeous cheekbones.
My heart started hammering against my chest; my hand hesitated on the ignition. Did I approach her now? Soften her up? Would that even lessen the blow? The plan had been to befriend her at least. I fought between being angry at her and wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
Whoa! Where had that errant thought come from? My internal response wasn’t expected; it had come out of nowhere, a protective need to jump out of my truck and touch her face.
She turned around and adjusted her sandal, bending over right in front of my parking spot.
I groaned aloud.
She wasn’t just lovely — she was freaking gorgeous, beautiful, a super model walking amongst a sea of boring faces.
In that moment, I wanted her to look at me. Desperately.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she fixed her shoe and continued on her way.
I watched her for five seconds, but the seconds felt like minutes ticking by. She licked her lips, tucked her hair, and looked behind her several times as if someone was following her. Then she looked in my direction, but not long enough to make eye contact.
It was enough, but I had a strange feeling I’d need to repeat the process, not because I needed to know the girl responsible for everything — but because I felt such loss when my vision cleared and she wasn’t in it.
Which was honestly the most messed up thing I could have ever thought. It was betrayal, pure and simple. She hadn’t ever been mine.
She’d been his.
The last thing I needed was to join the same downfall.
CHAPTER THREE
The demons clawed from the inside out, dying to be free. She entertained them for a while. Hell, she entertained me for a while, but in the end, it was never enough. The first time I told her I needed more, she panicked. I explained a man of my tastes couldn’t hold on to just one girl. When fear entered her eyes, I was so turned on, I almost hated myself, so I told her to strip in front of me and walk around the hotel naked in her heels. She did it, and when she finished, I told her to take pictures of herself and send them to three of the girls who had crushes on me, telling them that clearly I wasn’t interested if I had that. She did it. She did it all. And in the end, I rewarded her for it. But the emptiness remained. Even with my body sated, my mind wasn’t free. I was never free. — The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
I WAS ALREADY late for class, thanks to another crazy note in my mailbox, and when I’d gone to the student center to change my PO again, the student assistant had rolled her eyes and told me that maybe I should just stop having a mailbox.
Right.
Stop having a mailbox.
Like a hermit who lived in the woods and shot rabbits. I’d given her the best smile I could manage and then resorted to pleading when she didn’t budge. My heart had been in my throat the whole time, my hands shaking. She’d seen me as an ungrateful nuisance; if she only knew how scared I was.
How scared I always was.
By the time we’d straightened everything out, I was already late for my
I wasn’t heartless; I understood that he was a monster in the making, if his notes were anything to go by; she should have run away rather than encouraged it. What type of girl stays in an abusive relationship like that? In my mind, she should have seen the writing on the wall. All I had to go off was the journal… the journal of a lunatic, and I was only halfway through that specific piece of evidence.
“Whatever. She’s not coming,” I said to myself then started my truck, just in time to see a flash of dark hair. Pausing, I watched, praying she would turn around.
And when she did, I swear I almost choked on my tongue.
Lovely.
She was absolutely lovely.
When she’d run off the other day, she’d looked a bit stressed, and her hair was longer then. Now it was short, elongating her neck, showing off her sharp chin, full lips, and gorgeous cheekbones.
My heart started hammering against my chest; my hand hesitated on the ignition. Did I approach her now? Soften her up? Would that even lessen the blow? The plan had been to befriend her at least. I fought between being angry at her and wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
Whoa! Where had that errant thought come from? My internal response wasn’t expected; it had come out of nowhere, a protective need to jump out of my truck and touch her face.
She turned around and adjusted her sandal, bending over right in front of my parking spot.
I groaned aloud.
She wasn’t just lovely — she was freaking gorgeous, beautiful, a super model walking amongst a sea of boring faces.
In that moment, I wanted her to look at me. Desperately.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she fixed her shoe and continued on her way.
I watched her for five seconds, but the seconds felt like minutes ticking by. She licked her lips, tucked her hair, and looked behind her several times as if someone was following her. Then she looked in my direction, but not long enough to make eye contact.
It was enough, but I had a strange feeling I’d need to repeat the process, not because I needed to know the girl responsible for everything — but because I felt such loss when my vision cleared and she wasn’t in it.
Which was honestly the most messed up thing I could have ever thought. It was betrayal, pure and simple. She hadn’t ever been mine.
She’d been his.
The last thing I needed was to join the same downfall.
CHAPTER THREE
The demons clawed from the inside out, dying to be free. She entertained them for a while. Hell, she entertained me for a while, but in the end, it was never enough. The first time I told her I needed more, she panicked. I explained a man of my tastes couldn’t hold on to just one girl. When fear entered her eyes, I was so turned on, I almost hated myself, so I told her to strip in front of me and walk around the hotel naked in her heels. She did it, and when she finished, I told her to take pictures of herself and send them to three of the girls who had crushes on me, telling them that clearly I wasn’t interested if I had that. She did it. She did it all. And in the end, I rewarded her for it. But the emptiness remained. Even with my body sated, my mind wasn’t free. I was never free. — The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
I WAS ALREADY late for class, thanks to another crazy note in my mailbox, and when I’d gone to the student center to change my PO again, the student assistant had rolled her eyes and told me that maybe I should just stop having a mailbox.
Right.
Stop having a mailbox.
Like a hermit who lived in the woods and shot rabbits. I’d given her the best smile I could manage and then resorted to pleading when she didn’t budge. My heart had been in my throat the whole time, my hands shaking. She’d seen me as an ungrateful nuisance; if she only knew how scared I was.
How scared I always was.
By the time we’d straightened everything out, I was already late for my
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