Page 8 of Rugger: The Huntress

Subconsciously, I solved the problem that appeared in my head.

Six-hundred-seventy-two divided by fifty-six is twelve.

It was the fourth one of the day.

Not awful. I tightened my lids, hoping to keep my intrusive thoughts at bay. Four problems weren’t much in comparison to the ten the previous day, but they were still reminders of the mental chaos. The perimeters they created allowed me toperform well, live well, eat well, and sleep as well as a woman who was born to hunt could.

According to Rather, I wasn’t fighting any more demons than the average human. Mine were just darker. Bigger. Bolder. And, were birthed from my fears. Though few, they were present.

The death of Chemistry.

The death of my mother.

The death of a sister.

The death of Jru.

I stumbled upon a conclusion just as I opened my eyes to reach for the white washcloth.

Fourth one of the day.The number of problems I’d solved made much more sense, now. I scrubbed the liquid soap between the towel to form a thick, creamy lather. Against my body, the cucumber-scented suds cleansed me of my sins.

In exactly twenty-two minutes I was on the plush mat, allowing it to soak up the beads of water that rolled down my legs. A thick, black bath robe hugged my slim frame. Gelled patches were underneath my eyes and my damp hair was wrapped in a towel on top of my head.

I circled the toothbrush around my teeth while staring at my reflection in the mirror. Richie’s eyes gave me something to remember him by. My mother’s brows, forehead, and nose contributed to my feminine features, but they were hardly a match for my father’s genes.

Puah.

I cleaned my mouth and made my way to the conjoined room that held my wardrobe. It was fairly new. So was the home I was in.A gift from Chem. Almost every large purchase in my life had been a gift from Chem.

Though we were given monthly allowances that were separate from payments we received for our deeds, we were prohibited to spend lump sums of money. It wasn’t a written rule, but Chem had made it very clear with his actions and chastising of anyone who dared to break the unofficial commandment.

A lace thong ran the length of my legs, ending at my bare pussy. The matching bra followed. Dressed for bed, I slid open the drawer closest to the door. Staring back at me was a small arsenal, but it didn’t house the average firearms.

With my eyes closed, I ran my fingers across the collection, blindly choosing a .22. It was compact, but packed a punch.

Elation led me to the bedroom where I dropped to my knees and began confessing my truth. Most times I wondered if the Man upstairs bothered listening. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop reaching out.

Dear God,

Forgive me for my sins, but I have no intention to stop sinning. That is no surprise to You. Neither is the inclination that I am doing work that was assigned to me by something greater. Someone greater. By You, perhaps. Though this prayer might be pointless, my moral compass keeps leading me to my knees. So, here I am, again. Hoping my pleas are worthwhile. Regardless of their relevance in Your Kingdom, may the bodies pile.

Amen.

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