Page 10 of Buried Beneath Sin

There’s no need to run away from hell when all I have to do is sit and wait for death here.

Tears spill down my cheeks, but this time, they’re from relief. I can do this. With a shaky hand, I reach up. The pain that spikes through my body is sharp and steals my breath away. I push through it. I twist the first knob. The soft hiss of gas coming from the first burner cuts through the silence. I reach for the next one, but it sits just out of reach. Biting back a scream of agony, I force myself upward into a sitting position. When the room stops spinning, I reach for the next knob on the stove. Then I reach for the last one.

When I’m done, my hand drops into my lap. I wait for regret or fear to flood me. Where is my sense of self-perseveration?

Thisisself-preservation, a small voice in the back of my head says.It’s also how you’ll save Mom from any more bad choices.

Tilting my head back, I rest it against the front of the stove. This should be relatively quick. If I’m lucky, I’ll fall asleep right here and never wake back up. What better way to go?

I close my eyes with a sigh and wait for fate to take its course.

Pain jerks me awake sometime later. I can feel the world around me move. Cool air brushes up against my tear-stained cheeks. Lifting my eyelids is a chore, but I crack them open to see what’s happening. It doesn’t help. Both eyes are too swollen to see out of them. As I become more aware though, I realize I’m being carried.

“No,” I rasp out. “Let me… go.”

The person holding me says nothing. They simply continue on their merry way. We don’t go far. I’m lowered into a familiar bed with an unusual amount of care. I groan as the bruises on my back and my fractured rib screams in protest. The covers on my bed are pulled up and over me. Something lightly brushes across my face. A hand? Lips? I’m not sure.

I close my eyes, my blurry sight useless anyway, and groan again as despair amplifies the pain in my body and soul. Why couldn’t I be left for dead? Why did this mysterious person pick tonight of all nights to save me? Maybe I’m not being saved. Maybe they want me to suffer. That feels more accurate. I’m not lucky enough to have a savior. Tears make their way past my closed eyelids. My easy out has been stolen from me. Patrick’s death has been foiled. And Mom’s chance for peace is pushed out of reach. Tomorrow, when I inevitably awake, I know I’ll regret what I've almost done. I’ll have time and the clarity to second guess myself. The moment is gone, and who knows if I’ll ever feel low enough to try this type of out once more?

I allow the pain and exhaustion to pull me into a temporary darkness. It’s not death, but I’ll take this oblivion in the meantime.

When my eyes open again, sunlight is starting to drift in through the window. At least both my eyes open today. I suppose some of the swelling has managed to go down. I hurt more now than I did last night. Every breath I take is agony. Any little movement, as subtle as it might be, sends shooting pains up my spine.

I have to get up.

There’s a business to run and clients who are counting on me. None of that stops just because Patrick laid his hands on me. Though I wish, right now, that was the case. Judging by throbbing all over my body, I know I’ll have to wrap my ribs and cake on the makeup to hide the mess Patrick left behind. That’s going to take time. A lot of it. Which means I have to get upnow.

Gathering my resolve to see the day through, I force myself to sit up. I don’t gasp at the pain, having prepared myself for it. I simply bare my teeth and grit through it. Gingerly, I start to turn to make it to the edge of the bed, but I stop when I find a black rose and white envelope waiting for me beside my pillow.

I glare at the offending items. For a moment, I consider tossing both into the trash and forgetting about them. My unjust anger is fleeting. Even as I think about doing it, I know for a fact I won’t toss these things away. These gifts are beginning to be something I look forward to finding. They’re the only bright moments in my life. I can’t go around tossing them to the side.

I reach out to grab the envelope, wincing as I do. Carefully, I break the seal and pull the note free. Inside, scribbled in the middle of a folded up piece of paper reads:

You’re beginning to coil, Little Viper, but you’re not ready to strike. Until then, behave.

My thumb slides over the ink lightly.

Just like the last two notes, I don’t know what this means. All I take away from this is that there’s someone out there looking after me who cares—at least just enough—that I don’t die. It’s not a lot, but I cherish that all the same.

With a small smile, I force myself out of bed and to face yet another day.

7

KNOX

The smell of dinner cooking makes my stomach rumble.

I use the tongs to flip the meat on the little portable charcoal grill over, then I check that the asparagus is cooking. When I’m certain both are doing well, I shut the lid. As I put down the tongs, I notice the fuchsia nail polish on my middle finger has chipped.

“Damn it,” I mutter. “I just got these done.”

With a sigh, I look down to check my toes that are sticking out of the fuzzy purple slippers I’m currently sporting. The multi-color sparkles on each of my little piggies twinkle back at me. It’s cold out here, but it’s worth wearing the slippers to see my toes and how blinged out they are.

God I love nail polish. The never-ending combinations of colors and designs you can do are something I play with each time I get my nails done. Which happens to be a lot recently. Manicures and pedicures are the only things I’m enjoying these days, what with our current living situation.

Across the parking lot, a single car rolls by. It’s the first I've seen since I slipped out here. Granted, it’s a little past eight at night. Most of the old fucks that live here are probably tucked away, ready to sleep or meet the Grim Reaper. The older man inthe vehicle doesn’t bother looking over at the old decrepit motel that is vacant except for the two rooms we occupy or the person grilling in front of their bedroom door. I wouldn’t bother sparing a glance this way either. If I could, I’d floor it out of here as fast as possible.

Butno, we’re fucking stuck here until everything is ready with the plan we’ve put in motion. Behind me, a door opens. The smells of sex pours from the room. I smile at this. At least we’ve been having fun while we lounge around here.

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