Page 14 of Wicked Little Nightmare

I dunno which one of us was more fucked up at this point. All I knew is that we had both gone through things that other people would choose to die over, or become addicts over, and we hadn’t. We were surviving the best way we knew how.

I remember when Cam got released and we found each other again. His probation officer told him he should go to therapy to process his trauma. Yeah, that didn’t end well. The therapist came onto him, and she was my first real kill. It was messy as fuck, but it was so fun, we fucked in her blood after and that’s kind of how all of this was born.

He realized I had a need to kill my trauma through ending women who took advantage of others, probably something to do with the fucking nuns who abused me. And I realized that I couldn’t justify that without a catalyst. I wasn’t some vigilante, or a martyr, so Cam proposed this. Or maybe it was my idea. It’d been so long, I don’t remember.

I guess technically he didn’t have to actually fuck them for me to justify it. He could just take them out or something, but that just felt so boring. It was just so much better when I dropped the bomb that I’m his other half and now they’re going to die.

“Lakes?”

I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

“Where’d you go? I thought you wanted to open the damn file?” Cam was staring at me, and when I looked down, his steak was almost gone.

“Sorry, babe. Disassociated for a minute, but I’m back. Do you want me to wait for you to be done or can I…”

His lips curled up in that shit-eating grin. “Nah, go ahead babe. Open ‘er up.”

My hand moved of its own accord as I grabbed the beige file and opened it. My mouth dropped open when I saw it was a list of our former foster homes, and the people who abused us when we were kids. “Is this… is this a hit list?”

I swear to God if I could cry, I would have.

“Yes, baby, it’s a hit list. That’s what Skeeter was working on for me. It’s all of them.”

I frantically scanned the page, turning it over, and over again. “Where’s the nunnery? That, that… that group home for girls? Why isn’t it listed?” Something akin to panic began to claw up my spine. They were the worst ones. I hadn’t even told Cam everything about what they’d done to me. I couldn’t even remember everything they did. Most of my life was a gigantic question mark. The only parts I really remembered were bits and pieces and all these later years in this apartment with the love of my life.

His face dropped and he looked at his plate, his fork moving the last piece of steak around, almost shamefully. “There’s no known address… unless you remember where it was… I don’t know how to find it. Skeeter… Skeeter didn’t get any hits. Do you remember any of their names?”

The nunnery.The mere mention of it sent a shiver down my spine, like icy fingers trailing along my skin. Memories clawed at my mind, eager to drag me back into that place. The cot's rough wood still lingered on my fingertips; a cruel reminder of nightsspent in agony. Blood, metallic and bitter, filled my mouth from where I bit my lip to stifle screams during those twisted "sessions." In the suffocating silence, sobs and pleas for mercy from other girls echoed hauntingly. Father Christopher's heavy footsteps reverberated through the halls, his silver cross swayed with each step. Sister Anne's chilling touch felt like poison against my skin.

Incense mingled with the stale scent of candles and sweat-soaked sheets, an olfactory cocktail of fear and despair. Every inch of me throbbed with pain from beatings and violations by those who claimed righteousness. Yet amidst the torment, Cam was my anchor. His voice cut through the darkness in my mind even though he was far away, enduring torture of another kind. We endured unspeakable suffering at the hands of those hypocritical zealots who reveled in their debased desires under the guise of piety.

"I remember..." My voice a whisper as I looked at the file again, fear threatening to spill but held back by sheer willpower. "Sister Anne... she stripped me bare once... tied me down..." The words faltered as vivid images flooded back: The cold kiss of steel against my skin... Sister Anne's twisted grin as she sliced open my palm and pressed it onto something hard and warm and slick... The hollow ache of betrayal when Cam wasn't there to shield me from that horror.

“Sister Anne and Father Christopher. That’s all I remember,” I finish numbly. It was true. Those were the names I remembered, but the pain was inflicted by more than one. And Lydia. My roommate.

Cam nodded. “Okay… Did they have last names or…?”

“No, asshole, it’s not like they introduced themselves as Anne Hemmings and Christopher Olson.”

“Is that their last names?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. But. I do vaguely remember where the church was where they sent me. We might have to drive around to find it, but it should be there. It was super special to these fucking assholes. Stood for a hundred years or something. Probably some records of it at City Hall.”

His eyes lit up. “You’re brilliant! We can search old records to find it! Then we can kill them!”

I smiled, a numb chill settling over me. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you for this, baby. We should go kill one of these fucks tonight. What do you say?”

“Mmmm, does tomorrow work? I have a date with a hot brunette tonight…”

I stood, reaching to deck him before he started chuckling. “I’m kidding. You’re the only one I want. I’m hoping killing these fucks off, we can stop with the fuck and kill circle, maybe just skip straight to marry instead.” He grinned as I sucked in a breath.He wants to marry me?

I thought about it. “Yeah. Probably could. Hey, we’re kinda like Bonnie and Clyde, aren’t we?”

“Ummmm, yeah. Something like that.”

Standing, I walked around the table, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back. Smashing my mouth to his before rubbing my tits in his face, I bit down on his lip. A groan escaped him.

“You promised to make it up to me. I demand payment.”

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