Page 29 of Run Little Killer

LENNON

E very inch of my body is deliciously sore when I lift the blanket and slide between the sheets, happily curling into Rhett's side.

I kick a leg over his thighs, a corded forearm wrapping around my waist to tug me flush against him.

My eyes are heavy, drowsiness weighing down my limbs as sleep threatens to drag me under.

For the first twenty-two years of my life, I crawled into bed each night like this, content to close my eyes and succumb to sleep.

Then Shawn happened, and the nightmares that have been plaguing me since stole away the peace sleep used to bring.

Now, I lie in bed each night with trepidation pounding through my skull, afraid to drift off.

The nightmares can’t find me if I don’t close my eyes.

But no matter how much I try to force myself to stay awake, I eventually lose the battle.

The nightmares are the only thing I can’t run from.

They always come in threes. Three nights of constricting fear, followed by anxiety slithering beneath my skin as I wonder when they’ll strike again. The pattern of predictability doesn’t make it any better, but at least there’s some comfort in knowing what I’m in for.

Well, not anymore. I think I might’ve finally broken the cycle, because I’ve had two nightmares, followed by two nights without one.

It’s probably too much to hope that they’ll ever go away completely, but I’ll take one less nightmare as a win.

Shit, maybe Nix and Rhett have managed to fix me somehow and the cycle is finally broken.

Rhett's chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, his steady breaths gentle and soothing as I drift off into sleep’s embrace, blissfully unafraid.

That’s where the nightmares find me again.

Nothing about my body feels like it's mine any more, the acrid taste of bile coating my tongue as I lay there, unmoving.

Shawn pulls out, rocking back and pushing to stand over me.

Sick satisfaction spreads across his face as he looks down at the blood and cum coating his dick– MY blood and cum– evidence of my body's resistance and of its betrayal.

I wince, pain splintering through me as I struggle to pull my pants up, the fabric scraping over my raw skin like sandpaper. Drawing in a trembling breath, I scoot myself back to lean against his desk, shame pinching in the pit of my stomach.

"God," Shawn sighs, tucking himself away. "That was better than I imagined, I shouldn't have waited so long to give into you."

My mouth falls agape, skin prickling at his insinuation as I stare up at him in disbelief. A sick feeling heats my throat. I don't know whether to scream or cry. His pants are still open, belt hanging loosely as he walks towards a filing cabinet and unlocks a drawer.

"Take this," he says nonchalantly, lobbing a pale purple box in my direction.

I blink back the hot tears that threaten to fall from my eyes as I stare at the box. Plan B. Except this was never the plan– not MY plan, at least. On one hand, I'm disgusted that I even have to consider taking this. And on the other, I'm relieved to have it.

God, how fucked up is it that even the tiniest sliver of me feels grateful to him in some way? Does he think this makes him better than other rapists? That helping to erase the evidence somehow unburdens the transgression?

My heart seizes in my chest as the door to his office flies open, Shawn’s wife storming in.

"You asshole!" Natalie shouts, her unnaturally dark hair whipping around her face as she glares between me and her husband.

Her bright red lips curl into a snarl as she stalks in his direction, slamming her hands into his chest and pitching him back against the small couch.

"You said you were done, that therapy helped the urges! " she spits.

"It did– it does," he stammers, reaching out for her.

She jerks back, slapping his hands away.

"Don't be like that Nat," he groans, reaching for her again. "This wasn't my fault, baby. She tricked me."

"What?" I rasp, pushing myself up to stand on wobbly legs. "I didn't ask for this!"

"You didn't have to," he scoffs, waving me off like a nuisance and keeping his focus on Natalie.

"She kept begging to stay for another drink, then tried to make me feel guilty for not drinking with her.

Then she claimed she was too buzzed to drive.

and you know how nice I am, Nat. I couldn't just let her leave and hurt herself! "

Natalie’s upper lip curls, her suspicious gaze sliding between me and her piece of shit husband.

"So, I told her she could lay down back here while I finished some bookwork,” Shawn continues, lying through his teeth.

“I thought she'd be good to go then. But I didn't eat lunch, and maybe I was dehydrated or more buzzed than I thought, and she just came onto me and wouldn't take no for an answer.

You know how I am Nat, I-I couldn't hurt her, and my mind was fuzzy.

I didn't even know what I was doing until it was over. "

My mouth hinges open as I gape at him in astonishment, then swing my gaze to his wife. Surely she can't believe this bullshit.

She glances my way, and for a fraction of a second, I think she sees straight through his bogus story. Instead, she pivots around and lunges.

Not at him.

Not at the husband who stepped out on her, drugged an innocent girl, and proceeded to assault her.

Natalie lunges at ME.

Air whooshes from my lungs in a choked gasp as I’m slammed backwards into the edge of the desk, sharp pain radiating through my spine like an electric jolt. Panic floods my system, chest clenching as I struggle to remember how to breathe.

"You stupid little whore," she snarls, voice dripping with venom as she backhands me. Her rings bite into my cheek, pain instantly blooming across my skin. "How dare you come for my man, you homewrecking bitch!"

I flinch as her arm rears up, but she doesn’t smack me again. She grabs for something above my head, mumbling, "Maybe if I make you as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside, it’ll prevent you from doing this to another woman."

My head spins as I struggle to draw a full breath, brain scrambling to make sense of this woman’s outright delusion.

"You've got it all wrong," I wheeze, trying to push her back.

But it's too late. White hot heat sears a path along my cheek as Natalie swipes the beveled edge of a letter opener across my face.

Warm blood instantly blossoms from the cut, slithering down my skin as fresh tears blur my vision.

My mind wages a war on itself, unable to make sense of what the hell is happening .

That’s when I snap.

A high-pitched scream tears from my throat as I snatch the letter opener from her grip and lunge for her face, carving a gash across her cheek to match the one she gave me.

She cries out, hands shooting up to cover her face, blood pouring from between her fingers.

Her eyes go wild and she drives a fist into the wound on my cheek, sending me stumbling back.

The letter opener clatters to the floor, tears spilling from my eyes as my body crumples against the desk.

"Call the cops!" Natalie shrieks.

"Huh?" Shawn asks.

"I can't go to the hospital like this without reason!"

"What do we tell them?"

It feels like I’m floating outside my body, their voices sounding like they’re underwater.

Natalie stoops to swipe up the letter opener, grabbing Shawn by the wrist and slicing it across his forearm.

“What the fuck!” he shouts, yanking his arm back.

"You say you caught her stealing, and when you confronted her, she went crazy and stabbed us," Natalie instructs.

My brain short circuits, eyes darting between the blood on Shawn’s arm, on Natalie’s face, on my own hands. My body throbs as terror and adrenaline mingle together below the surface, and I do the only thing I can.

I run.

I jolt upright with a strangled gasp, a sheen of sweat clinging to my skin as I blink into the darkness. My throat burns, heart pounding, lungs seizing as I struggle to catch my breath.

The nightmares always leave me shrouded in panic. It’s like a botched exorcism; my sleep demons refuse to leave. I run a shaky hand through my hair, easing back against the headboard as I count my inhales and try to ground myself .

Beside me, Rhett's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his features slack and unguarded. I swivel my head to check the time on the clock radio, but Nix distracts me when he lets out a soft snore and my eyes skip right over the nightstand and onto him. The usual sharpness in his face has eased, his jaw slack and one arm slung overhead. He’s so peaceful that he almost looks innocent.

Almost.

There was nothing innocent about the way he consumed my body earlier. I was sure the high from that orgasm in the woods would stave off the nightmares, even just for one more night, but I guess I’m not cured after all.

Dammit.

There goes that theory. But even if Rhett and Nix can't erase the damage, they’ve definitely helped me forget. I'm going to miss this. Miss them .

I tip my head back against the wall, eyes trained on the inappropriately shaped stain on the ceiling as muddled thoughts filter through my brain.

Tomorrow– er, today– we'll be back in Englewood, and I'm finally going to get the pound of flesh I'm owed.

This was always the plan– to go our separate ways– so why does that suddenly seem so bittersweet?

Heaving a sigh, I kick back the sheets and swing my feet over the edge of the mattress. I pad across the room, tug Nix's black hoodie on over my shirt, and swipe the room key from the dresser, quietly slipping out of the room.