Page 28 of Property of Chaos

He kept her busy with charity. With ‘women’s business’ as he called it.

She indoctrinated the new arrivals. Showed the younger women—the girlfriends, the mistresses, and the new wives—how they should behave. What to say. Who to say it to.

My mother became his lieutenant, keeping the womenfolk in line while their husbands prospered. While the men fell headfirst into the pool of hedonism that my stepfather filled.

I scrub a hand over my face and head left into the kitchen. As I creep across to the back door, the clock ticks louder, an ominous countdown to a long-overdue confrontation.

The fuck?I frown at the position of the door, slightly ajar, as though I didn’t quite push it closed hard enough.Swear I shut it.I lash out and shunt it closed with the heel of my hand, quick as if the fucking thing might bite.

My heart rate picks up.Shit.

There’s too much. Too many things happening that shouldn’t be. Too much deviation from routine.

Too many steps from safety.

A sudden yip from my right has me jump backward, hand to my chest to quell the erratic organ within.

“Motherfucker! Where the hell did you come from?”

Murphy saunters into the room, leaping nimbly onto the counter. I’m too busy willing my nervous system to take a fucking deep breath and chill to give a shit about his audacity. He nudges against my arm, whiskers tickling my face as he sniffs me.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I exhale long and slow. “Fucking hell. Don’t do that.”

He purrs, more than happy for me to scoop him off the counter and carry his ass back through to my bedroom with me. If I’m to suffer through another restless night because of him, the least the asshole can do is join me for it.

“Stay in here, alright?” I set his fuzzy ass down on the bed and then resume my position, cross-legged under the bundled edge of the cover. “Let me finish journaling, and then we can get some damn sleep, huh?”

Murphy promptly circles twice and curls himself amongst the folds of the thick blanket.

I pick up the notebook and open it, retrieving the pen. Re-reading the last few lines, I remind myself where I left off and finish my stream of thought, pouring out the problems and questions that have no answer. One of the few habits I maintain from my first therapy sessions after leavinghim.

By the time I set the book aside and flick out the light, I feel as though my aunt’s visit could be a good thing after all. A chance to lay guilt to rest. To reassure myself that I wasn’t the bad child. That my departure wasn’t the reason for what he did to the others.

That men are responsible for their sins.

And that women are not only allowed to dream but to believe that they are worthy of such magic.

I close my eyes and sigh, Murphy happily purring at my feet.

Maybe, just maybe, this is it. This is my turning point toward everything being better.

Toward hope for the future.

Everything is wrong.

My eyes snap open, head swimming from the disorientation of waking too fast. It’s still dark outside, but even worse, it’s too dark in here.

And quiet. Far too quiet.

My pulse pounds in my ears, breaths loud as I draw inadequate air.What the hell?I went to sleep so relaxed. I honestly believed things were better and that I was done with this waking to a panic attack shit. Why the hell? What triggered me?

The bed moves at my feet, which wouldn’t be strange given Murphy went to sleep there, but the weight isall wrong.It’s too much. Too heavy. Sure as shit, not a cat.The fuck?

I jolt upright, scrambling backward up the bed to push against the headboard, a scream lodged in my throat.I swallow twice before managing to croak out, “Who the fuck are you?”

The man lifts his head from where…no fucking way… he reads myjournal,seated on the foot of my bed.

“Put that down.” I lift a shaky hand and point to the notebook in his hands. “That’s not yours.”

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