Page 30 of Keeping Her Under
What if I get caught tonight?
What if I never get to make her mine?
Seventeen
That thought does nothing but fester as I continue about my day. I’m expecting the police to grab me at any second. Has Nurse Potts given Summer a bath? Did some of my cum leak out of her when she was turned over so she wouldn’t get bed sores? Did I leave any crust on her lips?
Dammit! I knew I shouldn’t have risked seeing her before tonight.
I should’ve been able to control myself. I’m not like Mother, who gave into her every need, putting herself first every time. I’m better than that. I’ve taught myself to be stronger than that. I will love Summer like Mother never loved me.
I clench my teeth as those thoughts consume me, but I don’t let my anger bleed into my mannerisms. I am the epitome of professionalism until it’s time to get off work.
As soon as I peel out of the carpark at five, I slam my fist down onto my leg. The pain ruptures up my thigh, but it isn’t enough. I need to properly punish myself before I go to see her tonight.
I could have robbed her of a better future today. What would’ve happened to her if I’d gotten locked up? She’d be living in that mockery of a house, in a dangerous neighborhood. All alone and in poverty.
How could I have done that to her?
I’m supposed to be protecting her from all the pain in the world, not causing her more misery.
My car screeches to a stop in front of my house. I slam the door shut behind me before marching up the drive. Once inside, I immediately aim for the kitchen.
I turn on the stove.
As it heats up, I go upstairs to grab a metal coat hanger. I pull it apart at the kitchen table, using a pair of pliers taken from the garage.
My heart is beating rapidly in my chest.
There’s a little voice that’s telling me I’m taking this too far. That this obsession is bordering on insanity.
But there’s another voice, a louder voice – that of a kid refusing to be like his whore of a mother.
“Do it. Prove to me you’ll never be like her.”
So I curve the end of the coat hanger into an S, then bend the wire back over itself. Once it’s in the middle, I twist it into a right angle, making it point straight up. It’s not the sturdiest of handles, but it’ll do for what I want.
My cock shrivels as I yank off my pants.
My pulse screams in my ears.
My phone vibrates from my pile of clothes on the floor, cutting through my haze of madness.
But even with the fog lifted, I do not stop.
I will not be like her.
I know what it means to love someone.
You give them everything. You put them first.
I will not be like her.
Shoving my boxers down as my phone continues to ring, I grab the twisted coat hanger and put the S-shape flat against the stove. It heats up.
The phone goes quiet.
My thoughts continue to churn and scream.
