Page 21 of Don't You Pucking Dare

Brody: Found a letter from Rick Kemper. Time to show Rick Kemper what happens when you lie to the Reapers and to your own daughter.

Chapter 11

The final note of Vivaldi's Winter trembles in the air, a confession I didn't mean to make. Music has always been my escape, my way of releasing everything I can't put into words. Lately, though, even my cello can't quiet the chaos in my blood.

As I close the curtains, that familiar chill crawls up my spine. The same electric awareness from the maze when his hands found me in the dark. "Duchess," he'd called me, his voice rough velvet against my skin. I've never been one for pet names, but the way he said it...

I've asked around campus, trying to find him. Tall, masked, big hands. Everyone tells me to be careful, to stay inside after dark. They don't understand that I have a darkness of my own. Having no reputation is great, but it means that I’m seen as some band nerd. These people have no idea that my life experiences expand far past music. My childhood was traumatic,and maybe it’s a blessing that a fresh start means people assume the best of me.

I lean back and exhale. My cello used to be enough— the perfect outlet for every emotion, every desire. I glance at my desk.

Something's wrong.

My hairbrush sits a fraction of an inch off its mark— the kind of detail only a perfectionist would notice. I could blame it on my cello's vibrations, but the excuse dies when I see my desk.

My carefully organized papers are slightly askew, like someone rifled through them and tried to put them back. This shit again? I open my phone to text Kiah and see Levi’s message.

Levi: Answer my call tonight

Levi: Stop leaving me hanging

I ignore him and text Kiah.

Lola: Been in our room today?

Kiah: Not since morning. Working on this thesis, then meeting Jack. Why?

Lola: Someone's been here. Things moved.

That's when I see it. My father's letter, carelessly stuffed back into its envelope. The one piece of him I have, the one thing I've never shown anyone— not even my mom. His words are all I have of him, cruel as they are.

My fingers trace the creased edges, knowing someone else's hands have touched these pages, read these words. They've seen my private shame, the truth about Rick Kemper that I've kept hidden for so long.

The letter trembles in my hands as I smooth it out, preparing to read it again. As if his words might have changed, now that a stranger knows our secret.

Lola,

Consider this a warning disguised as a letter. Your existence is a complication I never wanted, but one I've chosento manage from afar. Don't mistake my financial support for affection— I'm merely containing a liability.

Your mother's romantic notions about our past are just that—notions. There was no love story, no attempt at family. Just a transaction that resulted in you.

I've watched you grow from a distance. Not out of paternal interest, but necessity. You need to understand that there's a world beyond your walls. A darker world where I exist, one you're better off not knowing.

Don't look for me. The moment you start asking questions is the moment my protection ends. And believe me, you need my protection more than you need a father.

—R.K.

My mom used to tell me different stories— about how he tried, at first. How he held me when I was born, how he'd watch me sleep. But after he left, she crumbled. When his money stopped, she gave up completely. My last memory of her speaking kindly of him was, "He was good once."

I have no photos, no memories, nothing but this letter and a name. Rick Kemper.

I should be terrified that someone's been in my room again. Instead, the lingering sense of violation reminds me of him. The man from the maze, with his cruel mouth and gentle hands. The way he called me "Duchess" like he owned me. How he mentioned my father as if it would mean something to me.

I get ready for bed. My pajamas from this morning are on the ground. I brush my hair and teeth and then slip under the covers, but sleep feels impossible. The words my father wrote to me always made me feel lesser like I am no one important. I’m half of him and he’s selfish and gives zero fucks that I exist. Which I think is crazy. I close my eyes and let myself remember how it felt to lose control, to let someone else take over my body. The darkness holds memories of the guy from the garden–– histouch, his voice, the way he made me forget everything. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced with other guys.

Even now, alone in my bed, I can almost feel his hands on me. The ghost of his touch makes me ache. I want to know his name, want something real to hold onto besides this haunting need.

Kiah bursts through the door, making me jump. "You okay? Your text freaked me out."

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