Page 92 of Oliver

My heart sinks to my toes and I bite the gasp bubbling on my lips. Why? Will the hits ever stop coming? Whatever. Focus. There’ll be time to dissect this shit later. Right now, I have to focus on the threat, which is the asshole who grabs the doorframe beside my head.

“Did you like my gift? Although I thought the cat was a nice touch, I knew it was the finger that would do the trick.”

Finger? What finger? Oliver never mentioned a damn finger.

My hands shake so badly, I’m half wondering if I can keep a hold of the kitchen utensil long enough to use it. His eyes meet mine, rise to the weapon raised above my head and flicker as I slam it into his skull with all my might. The dull thud of the tenderizer meeting his skull will live with me forever as he falls like a top.

Sweat drips into my eyes and I wipe away the sting as his legs begin to spasm. It’s, quite possibly, the worst thing I’ve ever seen, but my brain is screaming at me that I can’t stop now.

“Fuck,” I sob, raising the damn thing as his eyes roll back in his head.

Exhaling, I hit his head again and wince before dropping to my knees.

All at once, he stops and I cover my mouth. A weird sound between a mewl and a groan, bubbles from his lips before he seems to collapse into himself. And as I watch his life blood flow from his head in crimson rivulets that soak my bare knees, I consider Oliver’s words from yesterday.

I think Oliver has underestimated human beings in general. We all have darkness hovering at the corners of our vision and only one tiny misstep can unleash it into the world.

The darkness inside me came out to play and I don’t regret using it to save my life even if maybe I should.

Chapter 28

Never give up, there’s always a world of hurt ahead of you.

Penny

I’m not sure how long I sit there staring at the corpse, or more specifically his brain matter splattering my floor before I rouse and move away. My knees create a macabre streak on the floor, and I stare blankly into the kitchen before looking up with a frown when the doorbell rings.

From here I can see the latch over the door is engaged, something I don’t normally do but this fucker must have when he came in.

A sob bubbles on my tongue, and I’m halfway to the door, hobbling at that because my body aches,again, when my uncle says, “Penny? Open up. I need to talk to you.”

“Shit,” I moan. I assumed it was Oliver and after glancing at the extremely dead guy bleeding out on my kitchen floor, I shake my head. I cannot deal with this right now and stalking to the door, I rasp, “I can’t, not right now. Um, I’m not feeling well. Contagious.”

I fake a cough for good measure and roll my eyes, but he seems to buy it because he says, “Oh, okay. Call me in a few days. When you’re feeling better. We have to figure this shit out, Pen.”

Nodding, I lean my forehead against the cool wood and whisper, “I know.”

Meanwhile, I feel the slick slide of dude’s blood on my knees and gag before turning to the fake plant by the door and vomiting up the stomach acid roiling in my tummy. I guess it adds credence to my lie because my uncle leaves without another word, but it goes right over my head while I dry heave.

After an interminable amount of time, I finally wipe my mouth and turn. What the hell do I do now?

The answer is obvious and with a sigh, I trudge up the stairs on noodly limbs to search out my phone. Maybe it’s shock, or more likely Oliver’s assertion that they don’t involve the police that has me dialing his number and when he doesn’t answer my call, I hang up and try again.

After three fucking tries though, I scream my frustration into the universe and tap out a text message.

I need to talk and it’s 911

Fucker.

Now is not a good time for him to be running scared, although I get it, last night was intense, even for me. The difference is that I embrace the scary, exhilarating feeling and Oliver does not. The problem is, I don’t have time for his avoidance tactics because there’s a dead guy lying in my fucking dining room.

It’s really fucking surreal but to bide my time, I shower quickly, scrubbing at my skin until I’m raw and abraded before dressing in jeans and a t-shirt and heading back down the stairs. The hot water loosened some of the tense muscles but I’m still careful as I go because I definitely bruised both knees and my bones fucking hurt.

Of course, the dick is still lying on the floor staring into nothing and with a shiver, I search out a blanket before covering his body. I don’t anticipate much in the way of visitors but I’m still on edge and itchy while I wait for my asshole lover to return my call.

After an hour of waiting though, where I watched the minutes tick down, I give up on patience. I’ve been keeping house with a dead body and it’s fucking with my brain. Shit, I could’ve sworn he twitched at least a dozen times but every time I checked his pulse, he was still very fucking dead.

Now I’m going out of my mind but when I dial Oliver, he doesn't answer…again. What the fuck is his deal?

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