Page 59 of Don't Speak
Seven years later
They say the average cell in the human body replaces itself every seven to ten years. If that’s the case, I’d like to think that the body I’m in now is free from Sean’s touch. Regardless, Dean has been doing a stellar job at replacing it. I haven’t had a nightmare in seven years.
The cops stopped looking for Sean, giving up entirely after the trail ran cold after about five years. They’ve never found his or James’ bodies, and I’m thankful for that. There’s something poetic about Sean rotting in a dumpster for an eternity.
A lot has changed over the last seven years.
I am now the proud new owner of The Bunker Bar.
Deciding that he no longer wanted to own a bar where someone had died, the owner put it up for sale.
I told Dean that I wanted to buy it, but couldn’t afford it, and I had the deed in my hand a week later.
Business is booming. We had an influx of people move to town, and considering we’re the only place in town not catered to the older crowd, it’s been a pretty steady flow of business.
I work the bar from time to time, but I mostly stay in the office working on paperwork.
Dean comes in to… distract me a couple of times a week, but otherwise, he’s off doing what he does best. I made Cora the new manager, and she hired a team of go-getters.
I’ve not had to worry about a single thing.
Amelia and I get together once a week at a minimum.
When she heard what happened, she was a wreck, but I assured her that I was fine.
She knows everything. Everything . I trust her with my life, and I needed someone other than Dean to talk to about it.
Dean was with me when I told her, and the second I was finished with the story, she gave him a high five.
Then, on a more serious note, she thanked him for saving me while also threatening him that if he ever hurt me again, she’d keep her previous promise of castration.
We buried my mother the following day after what happened.
We had to do it privately, considering no one knows she’s dead outside of the three of us.
She’s close enough for me to visit, and surprisingly, I do.
I take her flowers once a month, thanking her for her sacrifice.
I’m slowly learning how to forgive her, but I know it’s going to take some more time.
Decades of hurt can’t be resolved in a handful of years.
Dean and I got married four years ago on the beach in the Virgin Islands.
It was beautiful and everything I could have dreamed of.
Amelia and Cora were there, standing beside me.
David walked both of them down the aisle, one on each arm, considering no one else was in attendance.
It was just the five of us and the officiant.
It was perfect. Then, afterward, we danced the night away until Dean couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled me down to the private beach we had access to.
He had sent David to set up a little area for us with blankets and drinks earlier in the day, and they paid someone to watch it.
We made love three times under the moon and stars before he carried me up to our room in the private beach house we rented.
Life is good, and I couldn’t have asked for more.
Speaking of Dean doing what he does best, the man underneath my knife screams with every slice I make.
Charles Richards, 38. Has been sexually assaulting his girlfriend’s daughter for two years.
Dean was hired to take care of it after the girlfriend walked in on him.
Law enforcement fumbled the bag, so she took matters into her own hands.
After Dean explained what he actually does in depth, I decided I wanted a piece of it.
Killing Sean was a high I didn’t know I was missing, and I wanted more. So here I am, slicing and dicing.
“You’re a sick motherfucker, touching little girls.
There’s a special place in hell for people like you.
” I’ve been working on him for fifteen minutes now, and I’m getting bored.
Taking the knife, I plunge it into his heart, blood gushing out with each final beat.
Once he stills, I pull the knife off, wiping it on a towel.
Dean stares at me from across the room with hunger.
I grin, knowing exactly what is coming next.
I make a ‘come hither’ motion with my finger, still covered in blood. He stalks over to me, wasting no time in ripping my clothes off. Fucking on this rush of adrenaline gives me some of the best orgasms, and he knows it.
When we finally get home, we head for the shower.
After we finish and get dressed, we both plop onto the couch, Simba jumping up and curling beside us.
As I sit here and think about the events of the last few months, a sense of peace washes over me.
My muscles relax, and I inhale slowly, releasing it just as slow, closing my eyes on the exhale.
For the first time in my life, I feel something I’ve never felt before.
Safe. Free. Loved. Truly loved.
And I finally feel like I am home.
The End.