Page 42 of Run

“What have I become?” I ask the foamy yellow water in the toilet. “How did I get here?”

“You were crying in your sleep.” Lily says, braving the proximity near me to kneel at my side. “What did he do to you? Your father.”

“More than I could ever tell you in a lifetime.” I struggle to say, choking back the acid that threatens to come from my mouth and nose. “And nothing that someone so pure as you needs to hear.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll turn you into me.”

“What if part of me already is like you?” She asks, rubbing m back, then reaching up and stroking my hair, pulling the spikey ends through her fingers slowly, scratching my scalp with each pass of her fingernails.

“I doubt that. You’re…you. And you’re not even you anymore. I see it. Being here has changed you, and not for the better.”

“It has.”

“The passcode to the alarm system is 030949.”

“Why do I need that?”

Leaning away from the toilet and looking up at her through tear-stained eyes, I see what I’m doing to her. The cuts from the mirror on her cheek, the fresh blood from striking her in bed, and the sore spots on her ankles from her shackles. I’ve killed the flower by plucking her from the garden.

“Run.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The look on her face as she stood up and left me huddled over the fucking shitter was one of heartbreak and sorrow. She seemed hurt, as I screamed at her over and over again to run, to flee, and to get away from me while she still had a chance.

Why? Why would she want to stay?

“Stockholm Syndrome, it has to be.” I moan to myself, laying on the bathroom floor, looking aimlessly up to the ceiling, counting the grout lines between the travertine tiles.

The house it quiet. There’s no barking of the dogs outside, no sound of Magnolia pattering around the house either. It’s dead, just like inside me. Lily had turned around and just walked out, slowly and peacefully, not how I ever imagined her escaping from me. But this is the way it needs to be. I can’t keep the flower out of water just to be pretty for me.

It's forever before I finally roll over on the hard tile floor and push myself up, wiping the dried and crusty mess from my chin. In the broken mirror I look at my reflection all busted and askew, and it fits how I see myself inside. Like a tidal wave it all hit me today. The H that didn’t care about anything, could kill with no remorse, and could separate everything into nice littlecompartments in his brain has exploded into the piece of shit I see looking back at me.

“For fuck’s sake.” I growl, vigorously rubbing my face with my palms, hiding the view of myself behind my heavily tattooed hands. “It was for the best, asshole.”

I already miss her, even though it can’t be more than two hours since she walked away. I miss her scent and her smile, even though those lips had only started to curve upwards since our ride and me showing her who I am. She had started to trust me, like I told her she should, and I blew that by striking her for no fault of her own.

“Work. Do some work. Keep her off your mind.” I say to myself as I clean my fucked-up face with warm water and the hand soap that sits on the sink.

Clothes are not a necessity to work from home, and I don’t have the energy to put any on as I trudge to my desk in the corner of my bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand is still on, casting shadows of my naked self on the walls, making me turn away from them and focus on the screen of my computer as I sit down and give the mouse a shake, bringing it to life.

Images of the house and the perimeter appear on the screen, as well as the feed from Lily’s bedroom in her apartment. I flick the cursor over the small box showing her abode and peer at the still image, squinting my eyes, trying to see her slumbering in her bed, which is where she should be at this time of night.

The bed is empty, the sheets are still crumpled in the same pile as they were the night she left her house for Le Chateaux, the night I scooped her up and brought her here against her will.

“Where are you my flower?” I ask the screen, leaning in closer, hoping to catch some view of her padding around her home.

The place is empty, no one comes from the bathroom door into her room and there’s no shadows on the walls as if she were in her living room or kitchen. The place is as dead as it is here.

Maybe she went to a friends, or the police. Huh, the police, of course that’s where she would go.

Leaning back in my chair, covering my face with my hands and sighing, I sit in silence and wait. I wait for the sound of sirens, and the flashing of the red and blue lights, but they never come. For hours I sit and wait, ignoring the initial idea of working, because what would I need to work for, when I’m only going to jail?

As the sunlight starts to creep in through the curtains and the birds sing their songs about the coming dawn, I finally open my eyes and go to flick off the computer. Something in the feed from my own house catches my eye though. Movement in the library passes over the screen, making the black and white images appear to be shifting.

Shadows? Maybe it’s just the sun casting its morning rays through the windows and making ghosts appear. I’m never up this early, and never looking at the security feed of the house when the sun makes its appearance.

---