Page 32 of Collateral Damage

Yes.You guessed it, another beer. I don’t think I've ever seen her eat a proper meal, all she lives on isCorona.Her remark repulses me with a subconscious arousal licking at the surface, eager to get a taste as her grin riddles with ego.The bitch kept the door open on purpose.

“Not really, your channels are awful.” I play it off, referring to the telly. Which only seems to amuse her further. She knows I saw her and I can feel my cheeks burning.Burning with anger obviously.

“I see everything is intact this time.” I roll my eyes white, wanting to smash it all up just at that comment, but I refrain. The TV needs to stay intact at least so I can bore myself to death.

“For now.” I refrain from a smile, letting my heart smile for me and it kills me.

C H A P T E R 20

OWNERSHIP

Puppeteer

My house has stayed intact for around a week now, no smashed up picture frames or holes in the wall which is a relief. We've practically lived in each other's pockets like cat and dog, squabbling over the most ridiculous shit and questioning why I even let her out sometimes. I've semi cleaned the place up a little now I have a‘guest’to cater for. She's been killing my time while I find another lead and work on my project outside, away from her to keep myself sane. She's like a new puppy under my feet.Worse than Shep.I get she's bored but there's not much I can do about that unless I walk around my garden with her on a leash.

She requested I take the wooden panels off the windows to let some light in and I hesitantly complied. I’m not happy about it but if it keeps her quiet then whatever, being bossed around by an eighteen-year-old girl isn't quite what I had in mind.For crying out loud.I kept them covered so she couldn’t see beyond her confinement but now that she roams my house it’s sort of become redundant. I’ve caught her intricate gaze a few times coming in and out of the garage and she knows it’s out of bounds but I know she is curious. I’m also glad she didn’t realise I must have left the door open that day either because I never lock the office door, only the basement door, for reasons I never want to expose her to. I don’t think it would break her, I think it wouldkill her. She would never look at me the same and we are finally starting to get somewhere.Ish. That part of my life does not need to be reminded of and she certainly doesn’t need to be exposed to that level of cruelty. Being cooped up like a bird is more than enough for her snappable little wings. I will clip them. Only I get to corrupt her pretty little head. She sees what I want her to see.

She has gotten a little more comfortable with the sleeping arrangements. We share my bed but she builds a pillow fort between us and it’s far too amusing. As if that is going to stop me from touching her delicate skin.I haven’t, but fuck it’s tempting. Instead, I imagine how it feels against my fingers as I paint it with my eyes.

I think we have both just accepted that this is how it has to be for now. I’ve yet to decide what to do with her when I eventually run, but now I’ve shared too much, I can’t exactly let her walk. Her company is tolerable but it’s also a major threat. She made it quite clear she would never forgive me, so what makes me think she will let me get away with this when the time finally comes to let her go. I know she’s playing along, but I wish she fucking wouldn’t. It would make this all much easier.

I enter the living room through the garage door smothered in oil and paint that immediately fills up the room. This motor is taking me for a ride I'll give it that. Trying to get the bastard roadworthy again is a mission in itself and my trailer project is almost finished. It’s just missing a few more coats of paint and some lacquer. She gawks at me, wanting to speak but holds her tongue. I’m in and out all day, I don't stick around long enough for her to talk because I know she wants to talk about her father.It’s not happening.

“What?” I ask dryly as my head rolls to make eye contact with her staring at my dirty attire feeling judgement from the both of them as they glare at me from the couch.

“Are you building your escape plan?” She's been studying me like a hawk and it’s unnerving, but if this keeps her out of the garage so be it.

“If you mean a broken pile of machinery. Yes.” I continue on my way towards the kitchen sink to clean myself up. I’ll have a shower later.

“Yours?” I stop in my tracks, pausing on a small memory sat just below the surface, a memory that keeps my sanity clutching at the strings. It was a birthday present from my mom two years before she died. Just a second-hand piece of junk she found down in the rural areas, they were throwing it and she jumped on it knowing how eager I was to get my own one day and I vowed I'd nurse it back to health. For a long time I let it rot away, refusing to touch it. I resented it in fact.

She got a beating that night.

“Who’s pile of junk is that in the front yard, Lillie.”

“It was being scrapped so I thought I’d bring it home. You know how much she’s wanted to ride, Rick.”

“She doesn’t need a vehicle, she doesn’t even have a licence, what were you thinking, giving her that piece of shit? Get it off my fucking property before I blow it up. Ungrateful little bitch barely deserves a cake and you got her a bike?! I hope you didn’t pay for that. Tell me you didn’t put money towards that heap of metal Lillie.”

“Nah, it belongs to the president.” I joke it off, pushing it to the back of my head focusing solely on her sickly adorable frown.

“Ha.Ha.”There’s a smile in there somewhere and it makes me feel violently ill that I’m searching for it.

“It’s just a hobby.” My oily hands dip beneath the water, lathering them with soap trying to rub out the oily stains.

“It’s an awfully dedicated hobby.” She’s noticed my obsession and I find part of me longing to show her. Scrunching up my face at the thought, my loneliness is showing.

“I’m just trying to avoid you.” I'm not half wrong. I am avoiding her, but I feel it’s not because she wants an answer. It’s because I want answers. Answers to the feelings that seem to completely and utterly consume me whenever I'm within 5ft of her that are withering away at my hard shell.

“Can I ask you something?” I swear to God if she keeps asking me questions I am going to tape her gob shut.

“Depends how stupid it is.” I turn to face her, leaning against the sink, drying my hands as she’s sat cross legged facing me, not even facing the TV. It’s just become background noise.

“Why do you wear your pockets out?”She even noticed that?My mind chases the day she held mine and stops running when I realise, I bet she doesn’t even remember doing it.

“Just habit.”

“It looks so silly.” She's tilting her head at me like that is going to help her make more sense of it. She clearly didn’t watch enough crime documentaries.

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