Page 104 of The Ecstasy of Sin
He grabs a pair of black sweatpants and a black long sleeved shirt, and pulls them on. He leaves the bedroom to head toward the kitchen.
My anxiety is through the roof. By the time he comes back, my hands are trembling. Thankfully, I can blame it on my fake migraine.
He rounds the bed with a plate in his hands and sets it down gently beside me. My heart hurts with the devotion he’s showing me, his readiness to drop everything and take care of me.
For a moment, I consider forgetting my plans to leave and giving him every single part of me: his to love, or his to destroy.
I chew my bottom lip. Surely someone capable of this kind of devotion and thoughtfulness wouldn’t kill me. Right?
The plate holds a fresh blueberry muffin, some grapes, an apple, a few slices of cheese, and a handful of trail mix. I smile up at him, my eyes glassy. “Thank you, Dom.”
“Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll be back in an hour.”
I nod, leaning in as he lowers himself to kiss me.
When he turns to leave the bedroom, I feel like I’m going to throw up. These conflicting emotions are turning my body into a war ground—fear and love battling for dominance, ripping me in two.
Fear, because there’s still so much unknown here. And I fought so hard to survive, not to fall victim to a monster wrapped in a beautiful package.
And love, because I’m falling hard for a man who’s more villain than hero, but treasures me like I’m his own personal heaven… the only one he may ever know.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my mind to go quiet. I can’t think straight with his scent all around me, with the silk of his sheets still warm from his body, and with my heart racing at the memory of his touch.
Laying back down, I pull the sheets up to my chin. I listen as the man I now know is a serial killer coos softly to his beloved dog, like he doesn’t have a hundred bodies buried beneath his name like a macabre tally.
How can both parts of him exist at the same time?
It takes him five minutes to get himself and Hunter ready, before I hear the front door open and close again as they leave.
I’m going to miss Hunter, too.
Sliding out from beneath the sheets, I move quickly through the house and peek out the living room window. I spot them disappearing down the street, heading toward the trail.
It’s now or never.
I sprint back to the bedroom, into the closet, and yank on a pair of dark jeans, a t-shirt, and one of Dominic’s black hoodies. I dress fast, grab my bottle of pills, my phone, and snatch the blueberry muffin from the plate before rushing to the front of the house.
My backpack is right where I left it next to the large entertainment center. I grab it and take it over to the coffee table. I do a quick inventory to make sure I have everything I need: medication, water, charger, a little bit of cash, and my ID.
Tears are already sliding silently down my flushed cheeks as I shoulder the bag, slip into my shoes, and unlock the door.
Before I step out, I glance both ways down the sidewalk. Dominic is nowhere to be seen. A mother walks by with her two kids. A few cars are parked along the curb. The neighborhood looks quiet and non-threatening.
Still, my pulse is erratic as I step outside, then close the door behind me. I pull my phone from my pocket and shut it down. I’ll turn it on when I’m ready to face the consequences of my actions.
I don’t look back as I hurry down the street, forcing myself to eat the muffin I brought for a little boost of energy.
I don’t look back as I find my way back to downtown Toronto, walking through streets I’ve memorized from years of surviving them.
And I don’t look back as, two hours later, I’m navigating the busy metropolitan city streets and crossing into places I’ve never been before.
My heart is hurting so deeply.
I’ve fallen right back into old patterns—just another homeless ghost drifting through a cold world, forgotten by a society that doesn’t care whether I live or die.
Another hour later, I finally make a plan. I’ll head north and find a ride to a smaller town. I’ve never hitchhiked before, butif I can reach a quiet park somewhere up north, I can watch the sunset while I go over everything: what I know, what I’ve learned, and what I feel.
The minute I start thinking about my phone, and the messages I’m certain are waiting for me, my anxiety spikes into a sharp, nauseating spiral. I duck into a narrow alley and throw up beside a rusted dumpster.
