Page 6 of Taking Me

Me: Fuck off, you prick.

Hitting the block button, pushing that situation to the back of my mind,“I could take care of whoever this was if something came out of it. Right?”My message got marked as “Read,” but nothing else came through afterward. I took a deep breath, calming my nerves. That is when it hit me. It was the fuckin’ nickname they used, “Little Sinister.” Only one person has ever called me that in my entire life, and it was someone I fuckin’ despise. Someone I never wanted to cross paths with ever again. To be honest, I thought the bastard was dead or something.

My gut clenched, and suddenly, a wave of terror flushed through my blood.“That bastard,”I muttered under my breath.

He was going to fuck everything up. Everything that I have worked hard for. “Is everything alright?” Angelicia interrupted my thoughts, causing me to jump. “Yes! Thank you so much for the drink and concha. They are delicious.” Scanning the cafe, I realized I was no longer the only customer here. A man is sitting near the door dressed all in black and wearing a beanie. His tattoos expand out front of the collar of his shirt up onto his face. The look on his face changes when he notices me staring at him, making a smile spread across his muscular jawline.

I stood up quickly, hitting my hip against the table, causing my drink to fall over, and making my chair scrape against the hardwood floor, bringing all the employees’ attention to me. Ipicked up my drink and the paper towel that my concha was sitting on and threw them away, walking out of the cafe, my eyes never leaving his. I need to get home.“Should I let all of this get to me or stay in?”My thoughts begin to battle one another.

This shit better be a sick joke and nothing more; if I find out who this mysterious person is, I will be sure to end their lives so fuckin’ painfully they won’t even get a chance to apologize. However, if my accusations are correct and it is him, I know I will be in for the treat of my life.

Seven

Little Sinister

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!”I can’t even go home right now. What if they’re following me? My heart’s racing, and the panic is creeping in. I need to do something to shake this off.It’s muggy out, and my adrenaline is causing me to have a mix of emotions.Blood. I need to distract myself, and that always makes me feel better. Fuck, if they have my number, they probably already know where I live. Especially if he knows what I did last night.

How did I mess up like this? I’m always so damn careful about this stuff. I try my best to stay off the grid, making sure no one deemed as dangerous or important find me. I keep to myself, blending into the shadows, hunting at odd hours, and avoiding unnecessary attention. My strategies have never failed me before. This whole situation has me rethinking what I think I may know. The only time I genuinely break my solitude is for those wild, primal sex encounters I find through Tinder. The raw, animalistic sex that leaves me breathless and covered in sweat, if it’s good enough, blood too. But even that isn’t enoughsometimes. Even then, I keep an eye on my surroundings and leave immediately after.

Sex and blood. That’s the kind of dark fun I need right now. It’s the perfect distraction. The thought of feeling the warmth of blood, the rush of power it gives me, mingled with the intense release of sex. It’s a twisted, erotic high that can drown out the chaos in my mind. I crave it, need it to regain control. If I can’t go home, then I’ll find someone to play with for a bit.

I walk a couple of times around the block, staying in view of others just in case anything were to go down. I could possibly rely on the townspeople who I have taken care of these last few years to say something or even perhaps intervene. I need to get on my bike. If it is that rat bastard, I’ll enjoy fighting and ending him once and for all, or I’ll die trying.Marklov. That name makes me sick. And I would bet my bike that the strange muscular man sitting in the cafe looking super fuckin’ out of place could potentially be one of his men.

Marklov, the name that brings a sick feeling to my gut, makes it physically feel like someone is punching me in the stomach repeatedly, over and over again. He is the piece of shit that my mom was with when I was four years old. He was a vile excuse for a human being. He always called me “Little Sinister” because he once walked in on me when I was just five years old, mercilessly beating the shit out of one of my cousins while laughing uncontrollably. In my defense, my cousin had been messing with my baby blanket, which I cherished more than anything. I had a short fuse even back then, and seeing him mishandle my prized toys sent me into a blind rage. The memory of that day is etched deep in my mind, and the sight of my cousin lying there in the fetal position, covering his head for protection and screaming for help, I never saw him after that.

Marklov abused my mom. He’d force her to have sex when she wasn’t in the mood and beat the crap out of her for notobeying his every command. That’s why I despise those kinds of men. I could hear them screaming back and forth at night, and I’d hide in my closet, hands covering my ears, with my baby blanket wrapped around me. It was the only sense of safety that I could give myself.

He would whoop my ass for the dumbest shit ever, to the point where I couldn’t even walk afterward. If I left my toys on the floor or left my snacks on the table, I’d get an ass beating I’d never forget. And I haven’t… I remember every single one of them vividly, like dark shadows that haunt my memories and nightmares. It stayed this way for what felt like an eternity to me. I had no escape, no family that would dare help me in the situation because of who my mother is…was.

When I hit the age of ten, everything changed. I started my period, and while my mom explained the basics, she wasn’t very supportive. She briefly mentioned the difference between tampons and pads, but I was left to figure most of it out on my own. I wish I could have understood more of what my mother was going through. Addiction is a real bitch.

She might have been an addict, but I knew she loved me. I could feel it. It’s hard to explain, but she was fighting battles I could never win for her. Yet, the physical demon she faced, I vowed to one day end. When he learned that I had entered womanhood, he told me he wanted a private conversation when my mom wasn’t around. That moment filled me with dread, but in the back of my mind, I thought of every way I could avoid it.

Marklov had my mom being pimped out. They assumed I didn’t know, but someone can only go out dressed up so many times and come back fucked up and battered until you put two and two together. I mean, how else would the bills get paid? His bum ass couldn’t hold a job. He was too busy running from any authority figure for something he had done across the border. Ivaguely remember them fighting about what he had done, but it ended with my mom being beaten with an old telephone cord.

That night, like many other nights, something turned in me, making my blood boil and my heart go cold. That’s when the monster in me was awakened but never fully unleashed. Her screams shook the walls. She begged and pleaded with him to stop, and he showed no mercy to the woman he was supposed to love and protect.

There was a night when I was asleep in bed, and my mom had gone out, leaving Marklov home alone with me. I didn’t think too much of it. It had become a regular occurrence in my life, a routine that I had grown accustomed to, even though I was just ten years old. The house felt dark when my mom wasn’t home. I always had to look over my shoulder and sleep with one eye open.

I woke up to Marklov screaming my name, demanding I get into the living room. My heart practically jumped out of my ass, I swear. I could feel my whole body trembling from being jolted awake. The fear was palpable, and I knew I had no choice but to face him. I didn’t want to go in there, but I knew if I didn’t, I’d be getting an ass whooping. I remember being in my favorite SpongeBob sleep set. Sliding the blanket that offered me warmth during the cold night, I stepped out of bed. Every step I took felt like walking through quicksand, my legs heavy with fear. The closer I got, the louder his voice seemed, echoing through the house.

* * *

Fifteen years ago…

“Ah, little Sinister, just the little lady I wanted to see.”Oh no, he’s drunk. My mind is telling me to retreat, to turn and run back into bed and hide under my covers, but I physically can not move. My body is so tense that I feel frozen. Come over here and have a seat with me. It’s time for that talk I wanted to have with you.” His words are slurred and uneven. I’m scared.

I step over the pile of beer bottles and sit on the couch. It’s an uncomfortable setting. Marklov inches closer to me and wraps his arm around my waist to pull me closer to him. I tense up even more, pushing my body away from his touch. “Ah, come on, don’t be shy now.” Shy? You call this shy? I’m freaking terrified. “How does it feel to be a woman now? You’re beautiful, you know that?” He says with a burp that smells like rotten apples. He’s in a white wife beater and some baggy boxers. His breath has a strong scent of liquor coming out with every word he speaks. It sickens me and makes me feel like throwing up right here, right now.

“Come on, come sit on my lap,” he gestured towards his lap and adjusted himself. If I don’t, I’ll get punished. If I do… I’ll be punishing myself. Still stiff, I lean closer to him, and he picks me up like I weigh nothing and sets me on his lap. My body was trembling, my hands were shaking, and my mind was screaming. I knew what was coming next, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. My “father” figure, the man my mother was consumed by and abused by, made me his next victim.

His whole demeanor changed once my period started. He didn’t yell at me as much anymore. He just stayed to himself and continued treating my mother like crap. Now that she was out, it was his opportunityto pounce on me. “You are a woman now, and I need to show you what that means.” My vision turned blurry by the tears that started to build up. “What… no!” I whimpered out, shaking my head in disbelief.

He started to aggressively grab ahold of me and rub on my legs, grunting into my ears. This man was about to take what little childhood I had left in me and completely demolish it.

I stood up to shove him off of me, but that only made him more angry. He tried calming me down by telling me that this was “normal” and everything would be okay. “It can be our little secret,” he mumbled into my ear.

Doing this to me is not normal, not by the slightest bit. Marklov slipped his hand into my pajamas and circled a sensitive area. His other hand held me down on his chest against my will. My anger was more towards my mother because she let this happen. She let him stay here. She chose to be with him. And now look at what is happening to me.

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