Page 16 of Slaughter

PRESLEIGH

Eleven years ago . . .

I sit on the floor in my hotel room, slowly rocking back and forth with my knees pulled to my chest. I feel so lost. Alone. My chest tight and my mind silently screaming.

Why?

What did I do?

Was it all a lie?

I had been so naïve. So in love with a boy who I was blinded to what he was capable of—destroying me.

I look down at my phone and press play again even though I’ve already listened to it countless times since this morning. “I fucking hate you, Presleigh!” Avery growls, and my heart shatters a little more. “You were nothing to me. Do you hear me? Fucking nothing!” His voice rises to a scream. “Just something to kill the time.” Tears run down my face, so much that they soak my shirt. “I hope you are happy with him. Just so you know, you’ll never be anything to him either. You’ll always be a whore who was meant to be used.” I cover my face with my hands and sob at his words. He’s right. I’ll never be worth anything. They made sure of that. “He did me a favor, Presleigh.” I choke out another sob. “Just as you fooled me, he’ll do the same to you.”

I sway in the shower, the water running down my body as the memories return. Not like I can forget. I haven’t thought of them in a while, but like always, they creep up and remind me who I am. Numb. I’ve been numb for years.

Until Avery showed back up into my life. And now I feel alive. I try to push him out of my mind. He’ll get me killed. But is that such a bad thing? There is no pain after death. No memories. And most of all, no love.

I still wear my pink thong and matching bra. The room sways, and I stumble over my own feet and go to grab my shampoo. I slip and fall into the tile wall, hitting my head.

I moan and then press my back into it before sliding down onto my ass.

I’m so fucked up. I’m not new to the club and alcohol scene by any means, but I’ve been drinking more ever since Avery cornered me in the bathroom at the club two weeks ago. I’ve been trying to drown my thoughts and desires for him. It’s not working.

I have to remind myself I fucking hate him. And then he showed up again at my place tonight. He slapped me. It was hard and unexpected, but I admit that I liked the way it felt. It made me wet. Finally, I felt something other than numbness. It also made me ashamed. So after he walked out of my house, I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of vodka out of my fridge and started drinking more.

Even now, it sits beside me on the floor of the shower, half gone. I grab it and throw it back, not even feeling the burn. I hear my cell ringing, and I crawl out of my shower and onto my tiled floor, welcoming the coolness.

“Hello?” I slur when I push answer.

I hear a deep sigh. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes.” Don’t see the point in lying.

“Jesus, Pres,” my brother snaps. “Where the fuck are you? Are you still in New York? I can get someone to come and get you.”

“I’m fine,” I say and then lick my lips. Vodka lingers on them, and it makes me moan.

“Fuck! I don’t have time for this,” he all but shouts in my ear. “I need you to get out of town. I need you to hide from him—”

“He already found me,” I say, interrupting him and taking another drink of my vodka still in my hand.

He’s silent for a long second. “Who found you?”

“Avery.”

“What the fuck does he want?” he shouts as if that was not the him he was referring to earlier.

“He was looking for you actually.”

“Fuck!” He hisses. “What else did he say?”

What did he say in the bathroom that night? “That he knows what you did.”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He curses in my ear.

I lie down on the cool tile while the shower continues to run. Closing my eyes, I release the bottle and slide my now free hand down my stomach to dip into my wet thong. I lean my head back and sigh when I run my finger over my pussy, thinking of Avery. At how much he would fuck me. I saw the look in his eyes and the power behind his hand to my face. He wants to dominate me. Hate fuck me. I hear that’s the best.

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