Page 21 of Moth to a Flame

Invading into my personal space, less so. Only one man has ever violated me. Stomped over every sense of privacy and self I ever had.

Never again.

With an eyeball I can’t seem to let go of, I go over every window in the apartment. I roll down the blinds, barricading myself from the outside world.

The eyeball doesn’t slip out of my grip.

Back to the table.

“That’s it, no more things to do.” My voice shakes. Totally normal, given the circumstances. This is the first real eyeball I’ve ever touched. “Hmm.”

No response from the eyeball as I place it on top of the trash bag. Careful not to tear the soaked note, I remove the hair band. Put it aside.

“Unharmed,” I appraise the tiny piece of paper.

I’m even more careful when I flip it, squinting my eyes at the smudged words. The ink almost didn’t survive the journey.

He wasn’t good enough for you.

My eyebrows shoot down.

He? Who’s he?

Lester? Someone got to him in prison and did this for me?

It can’t be Dad, even though he threatens to kill him on the anniversary of my rape every year.

The sweetest man I know grips my shoulders every year in September without fail, looks me dead in the eye, and tells me,Say the word, Regan, and I’ll hire a man to kill him. They’ll go slow too.

My answer is always,I wish, but no thanks, Dad. He probably gets raped in prison a lot. Pedophiles always do. I’m good.

I protect Dad because the perfect crime doesn’t exist. Dad may be rich and no one will miss a monster like Lester.

However, one slip-up, one detective who believes in justice for everyone, and Dad will be the one who’s locked up.

I made him swear that he wouldn’t dare try, so no. If this is Lester’s eyes, this can’t be from my father.

As I pick one eyeball up and twist my hand to look at it, I find the iris. Jade green.

Now I know for sure this isn’t Lester, either. My rapist has brown eyes. I could never forget that.

As dark as it was that night in the park, as terrified as I was, I remember his eyes. His stare. Evil. So evil. He was enjoying himself, the bastard. Soaking in my pain, in my terror. And as if his penis wasn’t enough…

A shudder breaks through me. My hand flies to Jigsaw, dirty fingers locking around the metal.

Little lamb.

The stranger’s voice is in my head instead of my sister’s. The memory of his lips ghosting my ear is a vivid one.

Magic. Dark magic, I mean. That’s what it is, this calm that blankets me.

Landon’s eyes weren’t green, either. They were black. This isn’t a part of him on my table.

Relief washes over me at that. I shouldn’t feel anything toward Landon.

And yet I do.

Wherever he is, he’s alive.

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