Page 6 of My Sweetest Temptation

There’s no such thing as a perfect guy.”

“Trust me, Gigi. I swear, it’ll be different! No weirdos with a butt plug fetish.” She shuddered before continuing. “Just a tall and handsome law student who’s a musician just like you!”

I smirked, taking another bite of my candy bar. “Oh great, a tall, handsome music lover. Just what I’ve always dreamed of,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I mean, come on. I was a violin player, not Taylor Swift.

Kara poked my side playfully. “Stop being so cynical! You never know, this could be the start of something amazing,” she sang, her voice teasingly hopeful.

“Yeah, the start of another disastrous blind date. Can’t wait,” I replied. I couldn’t shake this feeling that I was somehow cursed when it came to dating. I couldn’t see myself with any of the guys I met, and it was exhausting. I kept telling myself there had to be someone out there who could truly see me and understand my passion for music. I craved that kind of connection, the kind where we could play music together that intertwined our souls.

Instead, I had found myself stuck in this never-ending loop, watching my friends connect while wondering what the hell was wrong with me. It’s not that I was expecting some fairy-tale ending or Prince Charming. I wanted someone with a little darkness and a bit of an edge to balance out my annoying innocence. I wanted to feel like I was not just another face in the crowd or a meaningless one-night stand but someone worth knowing. I didn’t think that person even existed, but if he did, where the hell was he?

On the way to my parents’ house, Kara continued to paint a rosy picture of the mystery guy she had lined up for me. Despite my initial reluctance, I found myself giving in. Finally, I sighed and said, “All right, fiiinnne.”

Kara beamed. “You’re the best, Gigi! You won’t regret it, I promise.”

I gave her a skeptical look, but a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see about that.”

A chaotic scene greeted us when we turned into my neighborhood. Several cars blocked the road, and police cars were scattered everywhere.

“Whoa, what happened here?” Kara leaned forward over the steering wheel, her brow furrowing. “Looks like there’s an accident or something.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get through this anytime soon,” I said as I glanced at my phone.

“You know what,” I began, unbuckling my seatbelt, “it’s not too far to walk. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Kara said, looking between me and the accident in front of us.

“Yeah, very sure,” I assured her with a nod.

Kara leaned over the console and pulled me into a tight hug. “Okay. But seriously, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best, Gigi.”

I chuckled. “Just remember, you owe me big time for this. And I mean big time,” I said, pulling out my earbuds and setting up my playlist. “I’m talking a twenty-pack of chocolate bars. And not those tiny, fun-size ones, either. I want the king-size.”

Kara laughed. “I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow night is going to be epic, mark my words.”

I waved goodbye and began walking to my house with a half-eaten candy bar dangling from my mouth. I plugged in my earbuds, turned on “Birds of a Feather” by Billie Ellish, and enjoyed the sun’s warm rays on my face.

When I approached my neighborhood, I tucked the candy wrapper into my pocket and decided to take the shortcut to avoid running into Mrs. Willowbee. She loved those damn Ketchup chips and would always shove them in my face. And then there were the freaking gnomes she would talk to. They were lined up perfectly on her front lawn. Each one stared at me with creepy little smiles, their chipped-painted eyes seeming to follow my every move.

Reaching our yard’s wooden fence, I tossed my backpack over and hoisted myself across it. Landing with a soft “oomph” on the grass, I took a moment to regain my balance. I brushed the dirt off my pants and slung my bag over my shoulder.

I removed the earbuds from my ears, turning off the music before placing them into my front pocket. I reached the back deck and hesitated at the first step. The screen door was slightly hanging off its hinges.

What the…?

The eerie silence seemed to whisper warnings through the breeze, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I searched my surroundings, uncertain if there were any nearby threats. Having seen enough crime shows, I could sense the scene was not a good sign, but I needed to know if my parents were okay. I desperately hoped that Dad was still at work and Mom was out running errands, and that the disturbance was just a failed attempted robbery.

With trembling legs, I ascended the deck’s wooden steps. I refrained from calling out to my parents, fearing someone may be inside the house. Instead, I strained to hear any signs of movement but was met with silence.

I advanced cautiously, making as little noise as possible. I pulled open the broken screen door and gingerly navigated my way inside. The air inside felt thick and heavy, charged with an unsettling energy. I rounded the corner into the kitchen and the living room. My eyes widened in horror when I saw my father, motionless and tied to a chair.

“Dad?” I choked out. I rushed over to him, stepping over framed photos of my dance and violin recitals. With shaky fingers, I reached for his neck. Relief flooded through me when I felt a faint pulse.

He had several injuries—a busted lip, both eyes red and swollen, a gash on his head, and his face looked like it had been up close and personal with a fist. Panic surged through me as I fumbled for my phone and dialed 9-1-1. But as I was about to press the last digit, a sound, a mere whisper, halted my action. My eyes darted to the source of the noise, and that’s when I saw her.

Mom was on the floor, blood pooling around her body, a look of desperation in her eyes. My breath caught in my throat as I rushed to her side.

“Mama, what happened? Who did this to you?” I looked down at her ghostly, pale face and her once bright amber eyes that were now a dull, haunting gray and staring at me. My heart raced as I glanced at the blood beneath her, a stark contrast against her white shirt. She clutched her right side, and I lifted the hem of her shirt with shaky hands. A sharp gasp escaped my lips when I notice the deep gash on her right side, the blood flowing like a running faucet. My eyes darted around the room, landing on the throw blanket draped over the couch. I snatched it up and pressed it against Mom’s wound, her body flinching in response to the pressure.

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