Page 19 of Scarred Sins
I may have killed my mother and stepfather, but it took me a whole year of planning and a while of gathering the courage to put the plan into action. I haven’t hurt a fly after that. Even in prison, if an inmate wanted a fight, I’d just let them beat me.
The mere thought of a crowded venue with unknown people is enough to send a wave of terrifying chills down my body.
My solace is something I value, and there are no words to describe how much it means to me. Being surrounded by people is something I loathe, but it’s been avoidable since I left prison.
The same can’t be said for my mind.
I’m rarely alone up there, and it’s driving me insane.
Luckily, over time, I learned how to shut them out, even if for a little while.
Reluctantly, I get out of the bed and start a steaming, boiling shower. My mind works overtime while I shower, and once I’m done, dressed for the day, it only pauses momentarily when there’s a knock on the front door.
I open the door, and it’s a mailman. We exchange pleasantries, and he hands me the package, then leaves. The door shuts behind him, and the moment my eyes flicker to the name on the box, I almost faint.
As in, I fall flat on my ass, with the box dropping out of my hands, landing on the floor in front of me.
It’s addressed to Blair Hawke.
Wren is out for the day, and I’m all alone with my thoughts, a racing heart, and this mysterious box. I swallow the knot in my throat and hesitantly reach to grab the box again, my hands shaking and bottom lip trembling.
The first thing I see after I take the lid off is a neatly folded black piece of paper. My heart rate is high, almost hitting the roof as I take it out, blinking and taking in a deep breath, then opening the note.
“My lovely butterfly,
I’m terribly sorry for scaring you. It was never my intention to make you fear me or to fear who I am. As of right now, revealing myself is impossible. You’re not ready for that. To show you just how sorry I am, I’m willing to compromise. If you promise not to attend the banquet, and if you willingly agree to stay away from that place, I will come to you. I vowed to protect you.
It will be filled with dirty politicians, and given your history, someone might recognize you. That’s something I’m not willing to risk. I cannot allow anyone to take you away from me or to compromise your hard-earned freedom. This little gift is for your protection and your protection only. Please be careful not to hurt yourself. Seeing you hurt terrifies me beyond words.
If you choose to attend the banquet regardless of my warning (although I will do everything in my power to prevent you from going, sorry – not sorry, butterfly), we will meet inevitably.
However, that is when I will whisk you away and keep you all to myself to ensure your
safety.
Are you ready for that?
Yours always,
Arlo.”
I reread the letter over and over again. In fact, I’m not sure how much time I spend;
sitting on the floor in the hallway, with a blank stare. I read it once again, this time out loud. My heart rate spikes up with each word that leaves my mouth, and I struggle to comprehend how to proceed.
“Now, who the fuck is Arlo?” I voice out my thoughts, the words echoing in the silent apartment. Do all of his letters have the same contents? Could I have found out his name earlier if I’d just read the damn letters?
I lower the paper, then take a glance at the gun that rests in the box.
It’s small, and it has a spare bullet clip. It’s not something I know how to use, nor have I ever used. I don’t dare touch it; instead, I close the lid and pick up the letter along with the box, getting off the floor.
I can’t have Wren entering the apartment and seeing me on the floor with a gun in a box. It’s something I wouldn’t know how to explain even if I wanted to.
And what the fuck does he mean he’ll whisk me away?
I’d like to see him try. I won’t go down without a fight.
My legs drag toward my bedroom, then immediately come to a stop.
