Page 17 of Cruel Cravings

The panic returns, a dark, pitch-black canopy that surrounds me. That closes in on all sides as the rest of me feels bottomless. I’m still falling, slipping further away from the ground I was supposed to be standing on.

“That’s it,” he says, crouching closer. His lips hover near my ear. “Good girl. Breathe.”

Breathe.

BREATHE.

I inhale and inhale and inhale until I can’t stand another second. I’m clawing from the inside, desperate for an escape. Desperate to break free from this suffocating black hole and the panic that consumes me.

His hands feel so wrong on me. But he won’t stop. He never stops until he’s done.

And my sister’s music plays on and on and on.

I hurt from the inside, frozen in place as I’m poked and prodded in ways I don’t even understand.

My scream sounds foreign even to my ears.

The moment changes like the click of a camera capturing a second in time that’ll never happen again.

Up on my feet, I’m hyperventilating. I’m shaking, clutching the ball point pen I use for my journal in a clenched fist. My eyes pop open in time to watch a bead of blood drop from the tip of the pen and splatter on the ground.

“Wha…” I mumble and then I jerk back.

Dr. Wolford’s on the floor, his glasses askew, his hands coned over his thigh… which is bleeding. The blood seeps through the dark fabric of his pants, spreading fast like an ink blot.

I’ve stabbed him.

The look on his face—shock, horror, disbelief—hits me like a punch to the gut. What have I done?

I glance down my front.

My blouse is completely buttoned.

“Oh no…” I whisper, tears blurring my vision. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

“HELP!” he screams. “CODE RED!”

Panic floods my veins. I shake my head profusely, opening my mouth to explain, but then I hear the pounding footsteps in the hall.

I have to get out of here.

I bolt toward the window, struggling with the latch. Only as the door flies open am I able to figure it out. I crawl through like a creature that’s far from human, leaping from the ledge and landing in the bushes down below.

The bush’s sharp brambles slice me up but I have no time to think about the burning pain. I break out into a run, sprinting down the street, not daring to even glance back.

But I flee certain of one thing. The truth that Dr. Wolford and the rest of the world refuse to see. He’s been with me the whole time. He’s never even left my side.

6.Jael

La La La - Unloved

Fifty-five bucks a night.

It’s the price advertised on the flickering neon sign outside the Mariner’s Motel. I heave a sigh and then follow the cement path leading the way to the motel’s front office. The parking lot’s empty except a couple semi-trucks situated at the back and a rusted station wagon parked one spot over from the handicap space.

A tiny bronze bell clangs as I push the office door open and I’m greeted by vomit-green carpet and peacock wallpapering. The lighting in the room is warm and subdued, probably meant to be cozy and welcoming, but the quiver my stomach gives says differently.

There’s a man in a short-sleeved, pinstriped button-down shirt behind the counter. He has hair along the side of his head but nothing up top, like he started balding a long time ago, but refuses to let go of what little hair he does have left. He licks his thumb as he flips a page in a book propped open at the front desk.

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