Page 21 of Their Dark Rose

Here’s my chance to escape.

“I’m sorry.” I tear myself away from them.

They let go like I intended them to. I stumble back, lifting my hands.

Mason shakes his head, his eyes clearing. “Wasn’t your fault.”

Is he talking about what transpired here, or are we still on my dad?

I don’t know, and I don’t care.

Space. I need space.

No Mason. No Falk. No Finn.

No thundering need and reckless thoughts.

To be by myself.

“Okay. Good to know. Have fun at work.”

My wave as I back away is pathetic, but whatever.

If it sends Falk the message that I’m not interested in his class today, then being pathetic isn’t pathetic at all.

CHAPTER FIVE

Iclose the door behind me, run to my bed, curl into a little ball, and slam my eyes shut.

Sleep doesn’t come. Instead of escaping what just happened, my mind forces me into a similar occurrence in our past.

An innocent one, a completely non-sexual one. But since the last time I felt engulfed like this by these men was over a year ago, I guess that’s where my memories take me.

Another nightmare.

I’d had many of those, every other night. Some were mild. Some less. All manageable.

That one, though, hurt worse than a stab in the chest.

I dreamed I’d been sitting in the car with my parents on the day they ended the life of the Abbots.

In real life, I hadn’t seen the bodies or photos of the scene. I’d just been consumed by too much guilt and had drawn a gory, bloody picture of it in my head.

In my dream, Eugene and Darcy’s bodies were cut in half. I imagined their intestines and blood spraying across the hood of Dad’s shiny, black Ford truck.

Out of the guts, screams, and lifeless limbs, their eyes were the most terrible to me. Darcy’s green ones and Eugene’s blues stared at me where I sat between my parents. They were sad. Blood poured from them instead of tears, leaking and leaking and leaking.

And through these torturous minutes, my parents tried to talk, but their tongues were heavy. So fucking heavy.

My small hands tugged on Mommy’s shirt, then Daddy’s. Neither of them answered, and the Abbots kept crying blood out of their eyes. The blood smeared on their cheeks, jaw, throat.

Even on their teeth. Their mouths were open, and they were screaming for help.

Since my parents were oblivious to the scene, I yelled for the only other adults I knew.

“Mason! Falk! Finn!” I climbed over Mommy’s lap and leaned on the open passenger window.

With my head out around the vacant construction site, I cried and shouted, “Mason! Falk! Finn! Help! Please, help us!”

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