Page 53 of Torched Spades
Masochist.
Tipping my head back, I let the scalding water wash away every touch, every whisper, and every kiss before turning off the faucet. Still, I don’t move. Instead of opening the shower door, I stare down at my feet and watch the water circle the drain.
I wiggle my toes, but it still runs clear.
Just like it has for over two decades.
There are no size five red footprints. No crimson-tinged water pooling on my skin before being washed away. The only thing staining the water now is my own shame. Still, I wait until every drop has disappeared before opening the shower door, turning my back, and taking one step out.
Then another.
Then another.
My gaze doesn’t waver as I reach for my favorite towel and wrap it around me without bothering to dry off.Small eyes. Big teeth. A knife piercing a rose.I slowly close the shower door, repeating the words in my head until all I see is opaque glass.
It’s a ridiculous ritual, yet one I’m a prisoner to.
There hasn’t been a day in twenty-two years I haven’t looked for the bloody footprints on my shower floor. It’s as much a part of my day as eating breakfast or driving to work. However, since Johnny entered my life, my private obsession has bled into the night.
Bloodstains and the boogeyman are no longer confined to the daylight. Now they’ve invaded my dreams, and I’m reliving the worst day of my life every time I close my eyes.
Only this time, it’s not my mother’s blood staining my feet.
It’s mine.
Turning, I bow my head and tighten my hold on the towel with one hand, while gripping the bathroom counter with the other. My mind has gone from being my sharpest weapon to a spinning vortex filled with only one name…
Johnny Malone.
Even after a scalding shower, I can still feel the chill of his words on my skin.“You should be more careful, Doc… Once you invite the Devil inside, he claims your soul.”
Is that what I’ve done?
Have I pushed one evil out of my life only to let another one in?
“Why me?” I whisper, my hold on the counter slipping. “Why him?”
Shaking my head, I lift my chin and stare at the steam-covered mirror. Without thinking, I release my hold on the towel. Pressing my finger against the glass, I slowly drag it down in a vertical line, pausing only a moment before returning my finger to the top. Swirl after swirl, loop after loop, I cut clarity into the fog and etch my pain into the glass. Then stepping back, I stare at the three words that have haunted me since I was twelve.
Bullets and blades.
“No!” Hurling myself toward the counter again, I swipe my palm across the glass, erasing the vile words only to have them replaced by my reflection.
Jesus, I look like hell.
My bright blue eyes have dulled, the dark crescents beneath them the result of too many sleepless nights. Exhaling a heavy breath, I trace the damp pad of my finger across each one before sliding it down to my lips. It’s been two hours, and they’re still swollen. The water may have rinsed Johnny’s kisses away but not their stain. That’s permanent and irreversible.
Just like sins on the soul.
“Because once you invite the Devil inside, he claims it,”I murmur, my finger continuing its path from my lips to my chin. Frowning, I lean in for a closer look, my stomach tightening.
My bruise has faded.
The dark purple bite mark I’ve been hiding with layers of makeup is now nothing but a faint yellow smudge. The longer I stare, the less I comprehend this overwhelming sense of disappointment.
I’ve always prided myself in being a strong woman, but having been marked and controlled by this man stirred something unfamiliar inside me. It made me feel owned, and for once, it didn’t scare me.
I craved it.
