Page 44 of Collateral Damage

“What did I say about this shitty decor Lillie. Take it down. Now.”

“Rick. It's for our little girl. It's Christmas. Try to make this memorable. For her.”

“NOW LILLIE.”

“Please. Rick. Please, don't- don't make me do this.”

“We're gonna have a great Christmas. Just the three of us. You'll see Darling. It will be. Perfect…”

“Hays? …Hays. Hey -”Shit. I have her wrist in my hand, a knee jerk reaction and her eyes are popping out of her skull as Shep nuzzles his nose into my hip. “You ok? It's like you were in some sort of trance?” My fingers are tearing the sofaopen as I grip tightly. Trying to erase its voice etched into my motherboard.

“Yeah- yeah I'm fine. Just- enjoy the chocolate.” I let her go, and I hate that she's in the middle of this. I HATE IT. All I wanna do is show her my anger.Make herafraid of me. She is no longer trembling in my space. I gripped her wrist so hard I could have snapped it and she just stood there and took it.I need to punch these demons out of me before they try to inhabit themselves inside of her.

I find the basement, not remembering how I even got down here and I waste no time beating the crap out of my punching bag.Picturing his face. Sweat drips down my spine, my tank top is soaked and this fury is not fucking off so I think of the next best thing as my fist meets the wall. I don't flinch. Sucking in a satisfied breath, letting the pain subdue me as I drown in the sharp ache. Her pretty little mark on my hand is a trophy to remind her how strong she really is, and how she weakens me. I've not felt feelings this strong for months. She's like a drip. Slow but steady, keeping my blood pumping when I should be dead. I was meant to die. Now I wannarun? Fly away?What's gotten into me? I just killed to steal an identity when I should be drowning at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

Just thinking about her slows my heart rate. My thumb runs the length of her mark on my skin, focusing on her strength, her ability to control. She has this ability to contain this pain, lock it in a box and keep it at bay, but she needs to let it out. I want her to use me as a punching bag. Surely it isn't healthy to hold it all in. She acts like she's totally fine but I know she's losing herself. And I cannot lose the little life left inside her.

Never.

??

“What are you doing?” I'll be honest. I don't even know, but this attic is the last place I thought I'd be.

“Just don't let go of the ladder.” I remind her sternly hearing that giggle, and she dare let go, she'll receive another whooping.

“Maybe I will.” I pause. Turning to peer down at her, my white face paint haunting her through the trap door in the ceiling.

“Do you want to bend over again for me,Puppet?” Her perky little face glows bright red, staring down at her tiny feet trying to shy away from her guilty desires and avoids the question.

“What are you looking for?” My fingers graze the dusty wooden beams, reaching for corroded boxes and plastic bags. Trying to block out the memories I'm sifting through. It reeks of the past up here so I don't want to be up here any longer than I need to.

“Believe it or not. I have something you might like.” I forgot how much junk I had up here. I really need a clear out.

“What could you possibly have that I would like? Besides a baby photo album. Now that, I would love to see.” There's that snigger again and it tugs at the corner of my lip.

“You can keep wishingLittle Dreamer.”Not happening.I shuffle through a box of books, old art and stationary and finally come across my little find, pulling it from the wreckage, wiping the dust off the leather cover. “Here.” I make my way down the ladder, passing her the ancient scroll of empty pages.

“What is it?” She always looks like she's never received a gift in her life, taking it lightly from my hand.

“I thought you might want to write. Thoughts, feelings, stories. All that soppy stuff.” She needs an outlet. Something to vent her emotions into as I know she isn't exactly going to hand them over to me.

“Excuse youuuu. If I remember correctly, you said it wasbeautiful. Or was that just a ruseeee.” A ruse? Maybe so. But doesn't mean it wasn't true.

“If you would like to know, I meant what I said.” She examines the pages, a blank canvas to stain with words.

“How can I trust you won't read whatever I write?” Awww. How cute. She thinks I'm interested enough to snoop?

“The same way I trust you won't write anything mean about me.” I know it will be full of nasty things, but I can make her feel guilty, just this once.

“I can't promise anything.”Her dimples light up her face and I just want to pinch them.

“Think of this as a, errr- early Christmas present.” If she thinks for one second I'm going to go out and buy her something she has another thing coming.

“Well-”

she inhabits a deep breath.

“Thank you. I shall write all my -‘soppy’,cringy writing.” She's acting so, normal? This feels so normal.A good feeling. And I'm shrivelling at the thought. Nothing about this should feel good, but she's making this feeling bearable.

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